


Deadpool Syndrome

by RickyPine



Series: Deadpool Syndrome [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Big Hero 6 (2014), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agent Carter - Freeform, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Spoilers, Agents of SHIELD, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Amazing Spider-Man, Amazing Spider-Man Spoilers, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Big Hero 6 - Freeform, Dark Humor, Deadpool - Freeform, Doctor Strange - Freeform, F/M, Garfield4Spidey, Gen, Green Goblin - Freeform, Imagination Fuel Overload, Meta Humor, Nick Fury - Freeform, PeterxGwen, Post-Avengers (2012), San Fransokyo, Sci-Fi, Teen Fiction, Vision - Freeform, Wiccan - Freeform, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, quicksilver - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 81,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickyPine/pseuds/RickyPine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker has always loved the Amazing Spider-Man movies. He's always identified a great deal with the web-slinger. But lately, he's had weird dreams in which he himself actually is Spider-Man, and the girl he likes, Gwen Stacy, is the girl he tries and fails to save.</p><p>And, to make matters even weirder, an accident involving Tony Stark's science fair project leads to Peter displaying an ability he never even knew he had. </p><p>That's when the agents of SHIELD come in.</p><p>That's when everything changes.</p><p>(This is an alternate universe fic, so extreme liberties have been taken with the source material. Any and all OC's are owned by me. The Avengers and all other MCU films are owned by Marvel. Agents of SHIELD is owned by ABC and Mutant Enemy. The Amazing Spider-Man is owned by Sony. Big Hero 6 is owned by Disney. Deadpool is owned by Fox. Agent Carter is owned by ABC and Fazekas & Butters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The End, Everything Collides

*****PETER*****

Mr. Jameson might actually have a good reason to constantly gripe about my journalistic skills, or lack thereof in his eyes. It could be the reason why I’m only the photographer for the school paper, and why I don’t get to write any articles. The last time I tried to write one was my movie review for  _The Amazing Spider-Man 2._  I mean, I’m a lifelong fan of ol’ Webhead, so I’d like to think I know his cinematic exploits back to front.

Usually, Jameson doesn’t watch movies. He’s too high-strung to sit and relax for any length of time, which explains why he’s never around for first-period journalism class. He just doesn’t have it in him to sit and preside over a classroom for an hour every morning.

I guess he saw this one, though. Because in a perfect echo of Cade Clarke’s assbutt boss, he replied to the e-mail in which I’d sent my glowing movie review with a simple, bold statement: “WRONG!!!”

In a way, though, I was wrong in my review. Public opinion on that movie was nowhere near as positive as my own. Something that, at the time, was news to me.

The good thing was, at least I’d made sure to read no other reviews until after submitting my own, to make sure my review was as unbiased as possible.

The bad thing was, too often, news had dropped into my lap, sometimes with enough force to at least bruise my balls, if not bust them.

That review was just one such example.

Another one happened less than an hour ago, while I and my only regular journalism classmate, Clint Barton, were in class putting together the next issue of the  _Augustine Avenger_ _._  We’d been visited by the school’s star athlete - well, one of them, anyway. And not lacrosse captain, football captain, all-around Captain Awesome himself (if you’ll excuse the  _Chuck_  reference), Steve Rogers. No it was the less all-American boy wonder of Augustine High. The ultra-rich, ultra-elite, ultra-blond Brit twit known as Thor Odinsson.

All right, I’m painting Thor in a hella bad light here. To be more fair, he’s pretty damn aloof. Guy can barely crack a smile, not even when he’s hit his latest game-winning home run. Probably because he knows Steve, who’s a few shades more skillful than he, is letting him get the glory. It’s only nice, because baseball is the only one of Augustine’s HATS trick (Holy American Trifecta of Sports - I can thank the ever-witty Tony Stark for that one) that Thor’s even remotely skilled at.

Today, though, Thor wasn’t in a sporty mood. He was here for two reasons. One, to drop off his written statement about the upcoming baseball championship match. The second reason was for him to say to Barton, “And just so you know, I won’t allow my brother to hurt you again.”

“Damn straight,” Barton laughed. Then Thor’s words really sank in. “Wait, what?”

Thor did a double take, his ponytail swinging wildly. “Erm...you didn’t know? Loki’s just come back.”

I looked at Barton, and we both mouthed the same foul swear word. Neither of us could believe what we’d just heard. After all, Loki Odinsson was every bit as malicious and trickster-y as his Norse-god namesake. What he’d done to Barton last year had been more than enough to prove that - and to land him in a plush “rehab center” for “troubled” rich kids way down near LA somewhere.

“When did this happen?” Barton asked, his eyebrows knitted.

“Yesterday,” Thor said. “His year-long stay was up, so, er…” He stood there for another awkward moment - a rarity for him - before turning to leave. “Like I said, though,” he added while he was halfway out the door, “I won’t let him do anything to you. Or anyone else, for that matter. I know...I know to keep my guard up on him now.”

Barton let out a very long, very fake laugh as soon as we were alone again. “Yeah, ain’t that somethin’, Petey? There we were in the city yesterday, Skye Hamada bein’ her flirty self with you again...and there was Loki, comin’ back here as if nothing had ever happened.”

I could tell Barton was shaken by Thor’s revelation, because he was able to mention my sort-of stalker without remarking on how jealous he was of me for catching her fancy. Or how not-her-type I was.

“Sooo…” Barton drawled. “What were you sayin’ again before Thunder-Arms interrupted us?”

I spared a moment to laugh at Thor’s ridiculous, but surprisingly appropriate, nickname. “I don’t even remember,” I lied. “Whatever it was, it’s probably not important.”

“Sure it is,” Barton said. “That’s about as true as Thunder-Arms bein’ seventeen.”

I didn’t blame Barton for trying to defuse the tension with the weird sense of humor we sort of share. Especially with another popular running joke at Thor’s expense. Everyone assumes he’s in his mid-twenties at least, like a  _21 Jump Street_  cop, or an actor playing a teenager in a movie. Having at least two days’ worth of stubble on his face at all times doesn’t help.

“Seriously, what was it again?” Barton asked. Guess he’s done feeling sassy. “Something about a nightmare?”

I was saved by the bell - literally. “Shit, I gotta go,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye out for Loki, all right, man?”

“You don’t gotta waste your time, Parker,” Barton said. “I’ll be fine. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure. See ya later.”

We headed off at that point for our next classes, going in opposite directions.

I’m now sitting in the back of second-period Calculus, and my mind’s been turning over the events of the last ten minutes or so. I look up just as the bell rings again, and as usual, Gwen Stacy catches my eye. She’s closing a book and putting it away in her bag. I recognize the cover right away, even at a distance of fifteen feet. I have a copy of my own of that one -  _Red Rain_. The author, like me, is a big Spider-Fan. So naturally, he packed it full of Spidey references, and that book instantly shot to the top of my favorite list.

Speaking of Spider-Man, in this moment, I do basically what Cade does when he’s looking longingly at Sarah Reagan when they’re sitting down for class in the first  _Amazing Spider-Man_  movie. My eyes lock with Gwen’s, and right away, I lower my head, too nervous to keep looking at her.

I force myself to look up, though. Sure enough, she’s still there, smiling at me. She even adds a little wave hello. I smile back - oh God, why did I just do that? Gwen’s smile is sweet and endearing, while mine is...neither of those things. There’s a reason why I much prefer to be behind the camera, people.

My smile doesn’t get Gwen to look away, though. What does do that is a certain late arrival.

“Peter Parker!”

I cringe at the sound of the horrible fake British accent. I mean, I shouldn’t judge - I’ve had Barton fall off chairs many times with my lousy Thor Odinsson impression. But Skye Hamada, when she tries to copy Thor’s accent, sounds truly god-awful. Like a drunken Cockney girl, not at all the refined sound everyone hears come out of Thor’s mouth.

“Oh, Peter, my darling,” Skye coos as she lays a serious power-hug on me. “I haven’t seen you since we were at SFMOMA yesterday! How’ve you been?”

I roll my eyes, making sure she doesn’t see me do so. As much as I don’t like her, I don’t want to seem rude. “Like I left my heart in San Fransokyo,” I say. “Now could you get off me, please? I can’t see the board.”

“You silly boy, you,” Skye says, pinching my cheek before moving over to her seat.

Immediately, I bury my flaming red face in my hands. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why this girl fixates on me, of all people. God knows there’s plenty more attractive - and more responsive to her advances - specimens out there.

While the teacher starts talking about our next lesson (“Introduction to Integrals”), I take the occasional note. But most of my attention is focused on Gwen.

Only two movies have ever given me nightmares. One, indirectly. Ever since I first saw  _Inception_ _,_  I’ve always dreamed of places that looked familiar, but weren’t, because they were arranged like a maze, or made with impossible geometry. So, about 99% of my dreamscapes, good or bad, look like scenes from that movie.

Among the other one percent was the nightmare I had last night.

In the dream, I was in the middle of  _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_ _._  But not in the middle of watching it - I was in the thick of things, seeing things from Spider-Man’s point of view. The worst part was the scene my dream was in - the one where Sarah Reagan dies.

Except it wasn’t Sarah falling to her death, but a different, prettier blonde girl - Gwen Stacy.

So, as Spider-Man, I did everything exactly as it was done in the movie. But it felt really mechanical, because it was something I’d seen so many times before, and I knew how it would end. I somehow knew that no matter what I did to try and change things - fire off my webline earlier, and manage to catch Gwen/Sarah before she hit the ground, only to snap her neck as a result - the end result was inevitable.

I knew it hadn’t actually happened, especially after I woke up. But the dream had been so vivid, and so familiar. Like an actual memory. I’d been dreading coming to second period today, and not just because I knew Skye would be there. Also because if Gwen were to not show up, I wouldn’t know what to think.

Probably the first thing I would think, though, is  _Why didn’t I get to know her sooner?_

I’ve spent all of this year in the back of Calc with Gwen always in the next row over, two seats ahead. I haven’t been performing nearly as well in this class as I would like, because every day, I’ve seen her sitting there. Studious, attentive...and very beautiful.

And me being my awkward, dorky self, I haven’t been able to work up the courage to so much as talk to her.

In the end, I don’t really have to, though. Because she’s the one who actually comes up to talk to me first - during the break between second and third period. I guess she follows me to my locker, because just a second after I open it and switch out my Calc book for my History and English ones, I hear her call me.

“Hey!”

I look around and see Gwen hanging around behind me. I then look around to see if there’s maybe someone else she’s saying hey to.

“Yeah, you,” she says with a smile. “You’re the photographer, right? What’s your name?”

I tug at the neck of my shirt. “Um...uh...you don’t know my name?”

“Oh, I know your name,” Gwen says. “I just wanna know if you do.”

I close my locker, laughing nervously. Resisting the urge to ask her if she’s seen  _The Amazing Spider-Man_  (she has to have seen it, because where else would she have gotten that line from?), I say my name for her. And bonus - I manage to say it without tripping or stuttering.  _Mental pat on the back there, Petey_ _,_  I think when Gwen says her name back to me, even though she knows that I know her name just like she knew mine.

“So are you gonna be there for the science fair?” Gwen asks, making a vague gesture in the direction of the gym.

I look over there myself. “Oh...oh yeah. Yeah, I gotta...I gotta take pictures, don’t I?”

“Nice,” Gwen says. “So...well, I’m here to tell you that I don’t care what you take a picture of, as long as you don’t capture Tony Stark tryin’ to kiss me in front of everyone.”

“Again?” I ask, frowning sympathetically. Other than the whole Loki-gate thing, the single most memorable event of last April was Stark’s painful attempt to kiss Gwen onstage as she accepted her first-prize award.

“That’s why I’m not competing this year,” Gwen says. “Well, that and the fact that Tony says he’s got something that’s really gonna knock everyone’s socks off.”

“Haha. Not literally, I hope?”

Gwen’s smile widens. “Knowing that guy...who the heck knows?”

“I know, right?”

We both laugh a little more, then we start standing there, not saying anything else. I hate to admit it, but I have a bad habit of...well, not really biting my lower lip, but sort of sucking it in at one corner. It’s hard to describe, but basically, it happens whenever someone I don’t really know all that well tries to talk to me. And, since a lot of people come to me with out-of-the-blue requests for school paper pictures, that happens very often.

“So, uh...are you gonna be there, though?” I ask. “Even...e-even though you’re not doin’ any projects?”

“Yeah, why not?” Gwen says. “I gotta see what everyone else does. Especially Tony.”

I nod. “Uh-huh. Yeah. And I’ll be there too. Without any project. Yeah.” More lip-sucking from me. God, why don’t I just shut up? This is exactly why I don’t talk to Gwen - I’ve always been afraid it’s going to end up like this.

The bell rings again. “So, uh, I guess I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. See you there, Peter.”

“Ha. Yeah.” I start walking backwards slowly, so I can keep my eyes on Gwen for another few seconds at least. We wave to each other, then she turns around and moves on down the hall, back into the science wing. I, meanwhile, head for history, skipping merrily. Again, like Cade Clarke in the first movie. He and I have much in common.

A few hours later, after sixth period, it’s time for the science fair. I bring my camera to the gym, where all the displays are already set up, and kids are showing their parents around. It’s not just for Augustine students - it’s for students of all ages in San Castiel. So there’s a lot of grade-schoolers running around. I take pictures of some of the better projects in this section - my favorite is a wind turbine, much like the one made by the little kid in  _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_ _._  I’m almost surprised the name of the real kid behind this real project isn’t also Eduardo, but instead Jorge.

In the middle-school section, there’s nothing to hold my interest.

The high-school section contains only one project - a large inflatable white thing with a weirdly cute face consisting only of a pair of wide, round black eyes. Standing next to it are two Asian guys - one tall and broad-shouldered, the other shorter, skinnier, and younger.

I don’t recognize them at first, until Skye Hamada sails up next to them. Then I remember who they are - they’re her brothers. Tadashi, a senior; and Hiro, a freshman.

I want to bypass them, but I have to make sure they get their pictures in the paper, especially since they’re the only ones I see representing Augustine. So I walk up to them and hold up my camera. Immediately, Skye gushes all over me, but I gently push her away so I can get the brothers in frame with their balloon-man project.

“So who made this one, huh?” I ask after taking the picture.

“He did,” Hiro says, pointing to Tadashi at the exact same time his older brother says, “I did.”

Tadashi then adds, “You wanna see what he does?”

“Sure.”

Tadashi picks up his tablet, swipes the screen, and presses a few buttons. The balloon man then wakes up, its eyes blinking.  _“_ _Hello_ _,_ ” it says in a high, sort-of male-sounding voice. “ _I am Baymax. Tadashi programmed me to heal the sick and injured._ ”

“Whoa,” I say. I wave to the robot. “Um, hi?”

“ _Hello, human_ ,” Baymax says.

Tadashi taps his tablet again, and Baymax shuts off. “Aww, really?” I ask. “I was startin’ to like this guy.”

“His battery doesn’t last very long,” Hiro says. His voice is unusually deep for a kid his age - it sounds almost like mine. “We’ve been tryin’ to fix it, but so far, we’ve got nothing.”

“Too bad,” I say. “Well, I bet you’re gonna win, anyway.”

Tadashi shakes his head, pointing up to the stage, which has its curtains drawn. “Tell that to Tony Stark,” he says. “Nobody knows what he’s got this year, but it’s so huge it’s gotta be up there instead of on the floor.”

“Sounds like someone thinks they’ve got victory in the bag already.”

I look up to see Gwen coming our way. “Hey, Gwen,” I say. “See anything you like?”

“A few things,” Gwen says. “What about this?” She points to Baymax.

Tadashi activates Baymax again, and he runs through the same intro routine he did with me. “We’re also workin’ to get him to say different things when he’s turned on,” Hiro explains.

“Work in progress, huh?” I ask.

“You have no idea,” Tadashi says. “I actually wanted to put him in the fair last year, but I couldn’t get him to do anything at the time.”

At this point, the speakers by the stage nearly blow out as they start playing the extremely loud strains of AC/DC. “Shoot To Thrill,” if I remember my classic-rock radio correctly. Then the curtains open to show Tony Stark standing next to a table with a Microsoft Surface sitting on top of it.

“Hello, San Castiel!” Stark calls out over the loud music as it finally starts to fade. He starts pacing the stage a bit, like Steve Jobs giving a keynote. (Yeah, I’m aware of the irony there, a Windows user doing a Steve Jobs thing.) Unlike Steve Jobs, though, Stark is very definitely dressed to impress. Black tux, with a red-and-gold-striped tie. Gryffindor colors, I note with appreciation. And SF Dragons colors as well.

“I bet you’re all wonderin’ why I’m up here today, instead of down there with all of you,” Stark says. “Well, it’s ‘cause I’m above you in so many ways, it’s not even funny.” He pauses to let a bit of laughter issue from the crowd. “But also because my project is something a little more special. Something I’ve spent so long working on, I can’t even remember a day when it wasn’t in my life. Today, I present to you...the world’s first-ever artificial intelligence. I call it...Ultron.”

He types a few commands into his Surface, then stands back. The screen goes black for a split second, and is accompanied by a loud noise from the speakers. It’s like someone took that AC/DC song and sped it up so the whole thing played in only two seconds, then jacked up the volume in the process. It sounds like a demon escaping from hell.

“Not to worry,” Stark says, holding up his hands. “That’s normal. Ultron’s just waking up now, look.” He gestures to the screen, showing how it’s coming back on, displaying a normal desktop. A window opens up, showing a wavy line running across it like on an oscilloscope.

“ _Hello, people of Augustine High,_ ” a deep, hypnotic voice says. I can see the wavy line move around as the voice talks. “ _I am Ultron._ ”

Tadashi snickers to himself. “Hardly original,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

“Tell me about it,” Hiro whispers back.

“I need a volunteer,” Stark says. He scans the audience, seeing a number of raised hands, but ignores them all. “Gwen Stacy, come on up!”

Gwen looks at me and rolls my eyes. I mirror her reaction, then follow her up to the stage.

“And who might you be?” Stark asks me, fixing me with a hawk-eyed stare. I notice that his eyes are brown, just like mine.

“I’m...uh…” I clear my throat. “I’m Gwen’s bodyguard.”

The crowd laughs out loud at this one - like I said before, Stark’s failed kiss is legendary, so everyone knows what I’d be guarding her body against. Even Gwen manages a chuckle, but she quickly stifles it.

“I won’t try to make any unwanted advances this time,” Stark says. “I assure you, my intentions are strictly honorable. Today, you’re here to help Ultron pick out your favorite song.”

“Is that all?” Gwen asks with a raised eyebrow.

Stark turns the Surface so Gwen can look directly at the screen. “Say hello to Gwen Stacy, Ultron,” he says.

“ _Hello, my dear_ _,_ ” Ultron says. Another window opens up in the corner of the screen, showing a view of Gwen’s face from the Surface’s webcam, like in a Skype call. “ _You are a most attractive young human._ ”

Gwen blushes, and I glare at the machine, as does Stark. “That’s not very polite, Ultron,” he says sternly. “Let’s just get on with the questionnaire, then.”

“ _Of course, Mr. Stark_ _,_ ” Ultron says obediently. “ _Now, Miss Stacy...what genre of music do you prefer the most?_ ”

“Um…” Gwen taps her fingers against her sides. “I guess modern rock.”

“ _Interesting_ _,_ ” Ultron says. Behind the already-open windows, another one opens to full size, displaying an iTunes-like array of album artwork. “ _Now, when you say ‘modern rock,’ do you mean pop rock or alternative?_ ”

Stark curses under his breath. “Almost forgot the camera,” he says, fishing a small one out of his jacket pocket. “Gotta make sure the people see what Ultron’s doin’, am I right?” He hands the camera to Gwen. “Just pin it to your, uh…” He gestures at his chest.

“I got it, thanks.” Gwen clips the mini-camera to her lapel and points it at the Surface. Now its display is being shown on a pair of projector screens on either side of the stage, in real time so the audience can see it properly.

“ _You didn’t answer my question, Miss Stacy,_ ” Ultron reminds her.

“What? Oh, sorry. Um, alternative.”

“ _I like your taste,_ ” Ultron says. The wall of album artworks shrinks, now showing only a small handful. I recognize some Coldplay in there, and some Muse, Fall Out Boy, Imagine Dragons...but not my favorite band, Arcade Fire.  _Some super-intelligent computer this is,_  I think. “ _Do you prefer softer or harder alternative?_ ”

“What the hell, go harder.”

“ _Better, faster, stronger?_ ” Ultron jokes, even throwing in a suspiciously human laugh.

“If you don’t know what that means,” Stark says, “ask your kids. I promise, it’s nothing near as embarrassing and inappropriate as it sounds.”

Ultron then narrows the music selection down to Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco. “ _Before or after 2010?_ ”

“After,” Gwen says.

“ _Heavy or light use of electronic instruments?_ ”

“Let’s not get heavy. Light.”

The Panic! drops off the screen, leaving only Fall Out Boy’s  _Save Rock and Roll_  album. The graphic of the album’s cover opens up, like a book, and the digital pages flip around randomly until it settles on that super-popular favorite - “My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark.”

“How’d you know?” Gwen asks as the song starts playing, with a little graphic showing up on screen depicting a needle dropping into place on a vinyl record.

“ _I had a feeling_ _,_ ” Ultron says simply.

I turn to Gwen. “Is that really your favorite?” I ask, smiling hugely.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Gwen says. “Lots of people love this song. You do too, don’t you? Yeah, I can see it on your face.”

I hold up my hands. “Guilty as charged.”

“Excellent job, Ultron,” Stark says. “Now, for the second stage of this demonstration, I’m gonna show you all how amazingly portable Ultron is. He can travel through Wi-Fi and appear on multiple machines at once. Would anyone like to bring up another tablet, or perhaps a smartphone?”

“ _Not to worry, Mr. Stark_ _,_ ” Ultron says. “ _I’ve got this covered._ ”

“Haha...wait, Ultron, what are you doing?” Stark picks up the Surface frantically. He’s starting to look a bit freaked.

Across the gym, there’s a loud sparking noise as Baymax activates, seemingly all by himself. He blinks, then looks around. “ _This is a strange body_ _,_ ” he says in Ultron’s voice. “ _It’s large, but very buoyant. How high can it go, I wonder?_ ”

Baymax bends his knees, then leaps high into the air, almost reaching the ceiling.

Behind me, I hear Stark yelling at Ultron to deactivate, but it’s pretty faint. I can sort of picture where Baymax is about to hit the ground. It’s the spot where the Hamada siblings are standing, staring in shock at Tadashi’s hijacked creation.

Call it Spidey-sense.

I jump off the stage, somehow managing to stick the landing, then take off running in the direction of the Hamadas. I push them all out of the way, but Hiro lies there, paralyzed with fear as Baymax comes down.

Instinctively, I raise my hands and catch the inflatable robot, rolling him around until I can drop him back on his feet. As soon as that happens, Baymax shakes his head and asks, in his normal voice, “What just happened?”

“I’d kinda like to know that myself,” Tadashi whispers, an awestruck look on his face. He leans down to help his brother up. Hiro is panting heavily, his hand on his chest, and it’s at least ten seconds before he’s able to stand on his own again.

When he does, he breathes, “That’s not possible. Nobody can lift Baymax like that. He weighs about three hundred pounds.”

Tadashi wraps his arms around Baymax and tries unsuccessfully to lift him. Baymax shakes Tadashi off and looks at me, then at Hiro. “Are any of you hurt?” he asks.

Hiro and I both shake our heads.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much does-” Baymax begins, before Tadashi shuts him down again.

I turn to Skye to see if she’s okay. She’s definitely fine - she’s got her cell phone out and is making a call. “Yeah, Coulson, I think we’ve found him. I’ll bring him to you right away.” She hangs up and looks at me. “Peter, I’m gonna need you to come with me.”

I’m floored by the fact that she’s talking to me in a normal tone of voice - no bad British accent, no sweet-talk, nothing. And by the fact that as of now, I have no idea what’s going on.

“Who are you?” I ask Skye.

“I’m with SHIELD,” Skye says, flipping a badge on a leather wallet like a TV cop. I don’t recognize the logo on the badge - it looks like a stylized eagle in a circle. “Peter, come on. My boss needs to speak with you. You have to understand, it’s a matter of life and death.”

“What...what the…” I don’t even know how to respond to this.

“You need to come with me, too,” she says, gesturing to her brothers. “And you,” she adds, pointing to Stark.

“Who, me?” Stark says, looking up from his Surface, which is no longer displaying Ultron’s voice meter. “Well, anything for the hot girl, I guess. Hey, listen, I’m sorry my project messed with yours.  I totally didn’t see that coming-”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Skye says, waving her hands dismissively. “If I were you, kid, I’d kiss first prize goodbye.”

“Who’re you callin’ ‘kid?’” Stark asks, laughing as he steps up next to Skye. “We’re the same age!” His face falls a bit as he realizes what I’ve already figured out - everything we know about Skye Hamada is a lie. “Aren’t we?”

“Not even close,” Skye says, leading the way out of the gym. Stark and the two brothers follow her, but I hang back, looking around at everyone. I catch Gwen’s eye last, and she mouths, “ _What’s goin’ on?_ ”

I shrug. “ _You askin’ me?_ ”

“Peter!” Skye’s voice snaps me out of my trance. Unsure of what else to do, I follow her and the others out of the gym, up to a black SUV - Lexus, I think - with tinted windows. On the side is painted a circular insignia with an eagle design - the same one that was on Skye’s badge.

“Make yourselves comfortable, boys,” she says, opening the door and allowing us all in. Hiro and Tadashi get into the backseat, leaving the middle row open for Stark and me. Swallowing all my natural instincts even as they demand I get as far away from this strange car as possible, I take a seat and belt myself in.

In the front passenger seat, a balding middle-aged man turns around and pulls off a pair of sunglasses. “Hello, young man. Peter Parker, right?”

“Um...yeah.” I gulp a few times. “Who are you?”

“Agent Phil Coulson, SHIELD,” the man says. “I’m sure you have too many questions to count right now, Peter. And you, Tony.” Coulson looks at Stark, whose cool and collected aura falters a bit. “But those will have to wait until we’re safe on board the Bus.” He turns to Skye as she fires up the ignition. “Ten minutes, right?”

“Hopefully,” Skye says. “It all depends on how fast I can get us through airport security.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stark says. “Did you say ‘airport?’ Shit, and I don’t even have my passport.”

“You won’t need it,” Coulson says. “We’re not leaving the country. Just crossing it.”

“Where to?” I ask.

“A place you know better than you think, Peter,” Coulson says. “The place where you were born.”

I snort. “Okay, that’s just bullshit. I was born here in San Castiel.”

Coulson turns to Skye. “I thought you said he was already starting to remember.”

“I don’t think he knows what he’s remembering,” Skye says. “He just thinks it’s dreams.”

“What’s just dreams?” I ask, my voice starting to rise. “And where the hell are we going?”

“New York,” Coulson says. “We’re takin’ you home, Spider-Man.”


	2. And Their Words Are Really Clear

*****PETER*****

Maybe at any other time, I would have loved it if someone mistook me for my favorite superhero. But today, after so much crap has gone on, I feel really unnerved when Coulson calls me Spider-Man.

I’m so lost in my own thoughts and worries that the next thing I know, I’m getting repeatedly poked in the shoulder by Hiro. “Dude, open your door,” he says.

“What?” I look around and see that we’re stopped at an intersection about half a mile from San Fransokyo International Airport. Because the city itself is all crowded together in a relatively small area, the airport has to be here in San Castiel, about ten miles south.

Meanwhile, there's something repeatedly knocking on my door outside.

“Open the door,” Hiro repeats. “We need to get Baymax in before the light changes.”

“Wait, what? How can we fit-”

“He’s in his box,” Tadashi says, “and he’s right outside your door, Peter, so grab him.”

I look out the window and see a red box sitting on the sidewalk. “That’s really him?” I ask. As if in answer, Baymax's arm emerges from the box and he knocks on the door again. “How’d he get here?”

“His box comes with wheels,” says Tadashi. “Just grab him. You’re probably the only one here who can lift him anyway.”

“If you say so,” I mutter, quickly opening my door and grabbing the box (Baymax's hand has been retracted). I find it hard to believe that Baymax weighs 300-something pounds - the metal box definitely doesn’t feel anywhere near that heavy.

The real challenge, though, is to get the box through the door. It’s about two feet wide, and just as tall, so no matter which way I turn it, it does not want to pass through.

“Peter, the light just changed,” Skye warns me.

“All right. Everyone, get back.” I give a huge tug on the box, and it finally comes in. I then lay it on the seat between me and Stark before pulling my door shut a split second after Skye hits the gas.

The rest of the ride to the airport passes in silence. Skye and Coulson flash their badges at the security checkpoint before we drive through the back entrance. Next stop - a huge black jumbo jet, probably the biggest one I’ve ever seen. Skye drives the SUV through its open cargo bay door, parking next to a classic red Corvette, of all cars.

As soon as Skye turns the car off, Coulson turns to me and says, “I’ll be back soon - just have to fetch something from the lab. You kids can hang around a bit till I get back.” He turns to leave, but then stops, turns around, and adds, “Don’t touch Lola.”

I eyeball him out of the corner of my eye while he disappears through a pair of glass sliding doors. “Who’s Lola?” I ask.

Skye slides out of the driver’s seat and points to the red Corvette. “She’s the reason why Coulson’s never gonna get married,” she says. “Well, that and the fact that the only woman he ever loved thinks he’s dead. But seriously, Coulson’s always been married to that car.”

“And for good reason, too,” Hiro says, climbing out of the backseat while Stark and I leave the second row empty except for Baymax’s box. “That car can fly.”

Stark whistles under his breath. “Wow. Note to self - make sure to get a ride in the flying Corvette.”

I watch as Hiro and Tadashi slide Baymax out of the car. “If he’s really that heavy,” I ask, “how are you two able to not break a sweat liftin’ him together?”

“He’s lighter when he’s in the box,” Tadashi says. “When he’s inflated, he weighs a lot more.”

“ _Inflation is a core aspect of my non-threatening design_ _,_ ” Baymax says. He starts popping out of the box, but Tadashi pushes him back in.

“Not now, Baymax,” he says. “Let’s save it for later.”

Tadashi and Hiro drag Baymax over to the corner of the big cargo bay, and then Hiro sits on the box while the rest of us stand around, not looking at each other.

“So…” I ask, finally breaking the silence after a minute or two. “I’m guessin’ none of you Hamadas are actual high-school students?”

“I am,” Hiro pipes up. “But the other two are a little past high-school age.”

“I’m a senior at San Fransokyo Tech,” Tadashi says. “And Skye here-”

“-never had any formal schooling,” Skye cuts in. “I’m all self-taught. And I kid you not - when SHIELD first found me, I was workin’ out of a van.”

“Good to know,” I mutter. “So, then, what the hell were you doing, goin’ to high school? They decided to make you complete your education?”

“Hah. No.” Skye blows a loose strand of hair out of her face. “It was just my mission. Well,  _our_  mission,” she adds, gesturing to her brothers. “But mostly mine.”

“And your mission was to creep me out by huggin’ me a hundred times a day?”

Skye sighs through her nose. “I hate to admit it, but I did have an ulterior motive in there.” She sticks her hand in her pocket, then pulls it out again. There seems to be nothing in her hand, but she’s rubbing her index finger and thumb together, world’s-smallest-violin style. Finally, she walks up to me and holds out her hand, showing me what she’s got between her fingers.

“Micro-tracker,” she says, rolling the tiny piece of plastic over so I can see the sharpened end. “Every time I’d hug you, I’d stick one of these into you.”

I make a weird choking noise. “Trackers? You mean…” I suddenly realize that this might explain the weird markings I’ve been seeing on my hands lately. Mostly in the same spot, like tiny vaccination scars. I’ve always had a little red mark there on my right hand, between the knuckles on my middle and ring fingers. I’ve been told that it was caused by a bee sting when I was a baby (incidentally, that little incident might have contributed to my lifelong fear of bees, but let’s not go there.)

That mark had faded away with time, but recently it had been coming back, a little more red and noticeable each day. Now I know why, and I also know I was better off not knowing.

“What exactly have you been tracking?” I ask, more out of creeped-out curiosity than anything else.

“Not your exact GPS geo-tagged location, if that’s what you mean,” Skye says.

I wipe imaginary sweat off my forehead. “Whew. And here I thought my privacy was really bein’ invaded.”

Hiro takes the tracker from Skye and sticks it in his own hand, the needle disappearing under his skin. I have to really lean in to see it, but when I do, I regret it. He then tosses the rest of the device aside and takes Tadashi’s tablet, showing me the display after a few seconds of searching for whatever it is he’s looking for.

“The tracker basically monitors all bio-functions,” Hiro says, switching between two different screens with two different people’s readouts being displayed. One has Hiro’s name on it, and the other has mine. “Neural activity, so we know if you’re in pain or not. Blood pressure monitor, to make sure it doesn’t change.”

“And if it ever did change,” Skye chuckles, “then we assumed it was just you jerkin’ off.” I stare at her, mortified. “Oh my God,” she laughs. “I was just...I swear to God, I was just kidding! I didn’t mean…”

Stark cracks a brief grin. “Girl, you live with two young guys. You oughta know that if there’s nothing else to do, a teenage boy  _will_  find a way to make himself happy.”

I shake my head, my face on fire. “Disgusting.”

“Yeah, now I feel really dirty about all this,” Tadashi gripes. “Thanks a lot, Skye. That’s  _way_  too much TMI.”

“I’m...I’m sorry!” Skye says in between brief fits of laughter. “I seriously didn’t know!”

I clasp my hands in front of my face. “ _Change. The damn. Subject._ ”

“ _The software for the bio-trackers is loosely based on my own sensors for humans in distress,_ ” Baymax says. He starts inflating out of his box again, carrying another tablet in his hand. No, not a tablet. Stark’s Surface.

“Hey, I was wonderin’ where that went,” Stark says, taking his Surface back.

“Dammit, Baymax,” Tadashi groans, taking the tablet from Hiro and furiously trying to get back to Baymax’s controls. “Shut...down...now!” Baymax deflates, and Tadashi locks the box up tightly.

“I don’t get it,” Hiro says, sitting on Baymax’s box again. “He’s never been able to do that before. Unless…?”

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Tadashi asks.

He and Hiro both swivel their heads and look at Stark. Or, more accurately, at the Surface Stark’s still clutching to his chest.

“What?” Stark asks defensively.

“Your AI thing,” Skye says. “After it got into Baymax, he started actin’ haywire like this.”

Stark scoffs, gesturing wildly at Baymax’s box. “If that’s your definition of ‘haywire...’”

“What I mean,” Skye hastily amends, “is that your program infected Baymax. And you might have cut it off and rescued him, but there’s still some residual effects.”

“ _You mean like my newly-acquired ability to self-activate at will?_ ” Baymax asks. Hiro is pushed off the box as Baymax emerges once again, despite the locks having been engaged.

Tadashi curses again, while Hiro fetches a soccer ball from the back of the SUV. “Here,” he says, leaving the ball in front of Baymax. “Go crazy, big guy.”

Baymax bends down and tries to grab the ball, but with his short arms and butter-ball body, he can’t quite reach it. His hands keep pushing the ball even further out of his reach, so he starts chasing it around the cargo bay, like an overgrown inflatable dog. I can’t help but laugh at the sight - it’s surprisingly cute.

Stark, meanwhile, looks from Hiro to Tadashi to Skye, and back again. “Hey, I dunno what you guys are tryin’ to say here. I mean, I’m damn good at computers and robotics and shit, but I’m not Iron Man. I didn’t code Ultron to do...what he did today. That wasn’t me.”

“You said it yourself, though,” I point out. “It’s an AI. Doesn’t that mean it learns like a human?”

“‘He,’” Stark grumbles. “These guys call their creation ‘he,’ so why can’t I?”

“True,” Hiro says. “Then again, it’s easier to call Baymax ‘he’ ‘cause he’s got a body, a personality. Ultron has a personality, but no body.”

Stark rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“So what are we gonna do about Ultron?” Skye asks. “I’d suggest putting him in the Faraday cage, ‘cause who knows how long it’s gonna be before he decides to infect the whole plane?”

“Good idea, Skye,” says Coulson, who comes back into the cargo bay carrying a skateboard. “Tony, if you please…?”

Stark’s eyes twitch as he looks at Coulson. “Um…”

“Trust me, Ultron will be in good hands,” Coulson says, putting the skateboard down.

Stark pauses a moment before very reluctantly passing the Surface to Coulson. “You know I do my homework on that thing, right?”

“You won’t have to worry about homework for a little while,” Coulson says. “You’re on an extended, excused absence. That goes for you too, Peter,” he adds before going back into the lab long enough to put Ultron into a metal box.

Hiro stands next to Baymax’s box, watching the ‘bot continue to chase the soccer ball for a few seconds. When Coulson returns, Hiro asks, “So what’s the ‘board for?”

“It’s for Peter,” Coulson says.

“Say what?”

"So you can try out another ability you never knew you had," says Coulson, sliding the skateboard across the floor to me. "Go on. Try it, Peter."

I stare at the skateboard warily. "Um..."

"What's the matter?" Stark asks, jumping out and 'boarding across the room. "You chicken?"

I can't help but laugh at the sight. Sure, some teenage guys (myself not included) seem incredibly at home on those things. Stark certainly is - he can do more than a few tricks with it. But I'm pretty certain nobody's ever seen a dude ride a skateboard while wearing a tux.

"Your turn, Petey," Stark says, coming back and giving the skateboard to me.

I furrow my eyebrows at him. "Don't call me 'Petey.' Only my friends call me that."

"You mean  _friend_ _,_ " Stark corrects me.

I narrow my eyes like I'm about to zap his ass with heat vision. He's right, but the truth hurts.

"You're really good at this, you know," Coulson says. "You just don't remember yet."

"Speak for yourself," I scoff. "I've never been on a skateboard in my life. I can't do this."

In the corner, Hiro snorts. "This from the guy who saved me by liftin' a three-hundred-pound inflatable robot." He taps his foot against the side of Baymax's red box.

"Just do it already, Peter," Skye says. She tries to lay a comforting hand on my shoulder - for old time's sake, maybe?

But I squirm away, muttering, "Don't touch me."

"Coulson's not gonna let you leave until you do," Skye says.

I look at Coulson, who's standing in front of the lab door with his arms crossed. Then I look at Stark, Hiro, Tadashi, and Skye, all of whom are staring at me. Probably expecting me to shoot webs from my wrists, too.

"You know how they say you never forget ridin' a bike?" Skye asks. "It's kinda true. Just let your muscle memory take over, and you'll be fine." She reaches for my shoulder again, but at a glare from me, she backs off. I have to wonder, did she really develop feelings for me while on her "mission" at Augustine? If so, gross. I'm underage, for God's sake.

I grit my teeth and roll my shoulders, then let the 'board hit the floor, wheels down. Then I step onto it and try to copy the tricks Stark demonstrated before.

To my amazement, I manage to pull them off very well. I even manage to ride halfway up the walls of the cargo bay. And, even more impressively, I manage to perch there. The 'board hangs off a little ledge of sorts, less than four inches wide, and I have one hand stuck to the wall.

And then the whole Spider-Man thing comes to mind again. Then I know what to do next.

I put my other hand on the wall, then kick the skateboard away. It clatters down to the floor, fifteen feet down, while my hands stick to the wall. I don't know how they do it - they just do.

"Show-off!" Stark snarks at me from below.

The three Hamadas give impressed whistles.

Coulson, meanwhile, calls up, "Come down, Spider-Man. I have to show you something else."

I leap down from my perch, landing on my feet. My knees bend as I land, and when I rise back up, I can see the smirk being slowly wiped from Stark’s face.

“Follow me, boys,” Coulson says, beckoning Stark and me forward, into the lab.

I exchange glances with Stark. “Down the rabbit hole, am I right?”

“You said it, not me.”

“Hey, boss!” Skye calls out before the lab doors close. “Should we expect May and the rest to come back anytime soon?”

“They’re on their way,” Coulson says. “They just need to pick up...um...a couple more people.”

“Define ‘a couple more people,’” Skye says, narrowing her eyes.

“You’ll recognize them when they get here,” Coulson says.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“All in good time, Skye,” Coulson says. “Boys?”

Stark and I look at each other again, then I shrug my shoulders and follow Coulson through the lab, into the heart of the plane.


	3. Here's A Few Subway Tokens

*****GWEN*****

I edge out of the gym as people start looking around, wondering what to do next. Nobody seems to notice me leave - nobody except Clint Barton. He’s pretty easy to spot, because he’s wearing one of his many purple-and-gray-striped T-shirts. It’s got long sleeves too, so it’s a very odd choice for this time of year now that the weather’s warming up. Then again, this is San Castiel we’re talking about. We’re so close to San Fransokyo that we get foggy days even in the middle of summer.

Clint catches my eye and walks up to me, asking, “Did you see what happened?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Didn’t you?”

Clint shakes his head. “I just saw Peter walkin’ out the gym with the Hamadas, and I’m like, what gives? Peter doesn’t hang out with them.” He scratches the back of his head. “Or, at least, he doesn’t hang out with Skye.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I laugh. “Everyone can see she creeps him out, the way she’s so...how should I put it...affectionate with him.”

“So what happened, then?” Clint asks. “I tried to ask Peter, but the Hamadas just kept on movin’, and he followed them before he could talk to me.”

I take a deep breath and give Clint the story, in the shortest possible version. Even that takes me a full five minutes. When I’m done, his only response is a shocked stare. “That’s exactly what I looked like when it happened,” I say.

Clint snorts under his breath. “Well, you’d probably have still looked hella pretty with your jaw on the floor.” My eyes twitch, and I glare at him for a moment, just long enough to force him to look down in shame. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” I say. “Now maybe if you called Peter and asked him again what’s goin’ on? I’d call him myself, but I don’t have his number.”

“How’d you know I-”

“You work on the paper with him, right? Of course you’d have his contact info.”

Clint nods silently, then grabs his phone and makes the call. He holds his phone up to his ear for a moment, then says, “Hey, Parker, it’s Barton. Um, Gwen just told me what went down in the gym today, and I’d like to know if I should have your aunt report you missing or anything like that. Call me back when you get this, okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“No answer?” I ask.

“Went straight to voicemail,” Clint says. “Which either means Pete’s phone is off, or destroyed. He almost always answers it when it’s on.”

“Hmm,” I say. “Any other ideas? What about if we try and find the Hamadas?”

Clint frowns. “Where would you look, though? At their house?”

I shake my head. “I doubt they’d have gone there...but that’s a start. Maybe we’ll find some kind of clue there.”

“I know where they live,” Clint says. “I, uh, did an interview with Hiro and Tadashi a couple weeks ago for the science fair, and I ended up goin’ to their place ‘cause they had to work at home on their project anyway.”

“The inflatable health-care robot?” I ask.

“No, actually, it was something else,” Clint says, swiping the screen on his phone so he can double-check the Hamadas’ address. “Something with this shape-changing metal thing. Like out of  _Transformers_ , you know?”

“Interesting,” I say. “So where do they live, then?”

“In the city, believe it or not,” Clint says, pocketing his phone.

“The city?” I raise my eyebrows. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised - Augustine’s a pretty popular magnet school that attracts the scientifically-inclined from all over the Bay Area. Hell, even Tony Stark isn’t a San Castiel local - he lives in Hayashi Hills, if I remember correctly. “What part of the city?”

“I had to take BART up there and get off at 24th and Mission,” Clint says. “If we hurry, we could probably get there in half an hour or less.”

“Let’s go, then,” I say, leading the way out the building.

Five minutes later, we’re in San Castiel BART station. Because it’s a Spare The Air day, BART travel is free - but at first, I pull out my Clipper card out of habit when Clint and I reach the gate, not seeing that it’s already wide open and waiting for us to go through. Then, we ride the escalator down to the underground platform and wait for the train to arrive.

The train ride into San Fransokyo takes about half an hour, just like Clint suggested. It’s only about a twenty-mile distance - ten as the crow flies, but the BART tracks have to detour around San Castiel Mountain on the southern edge of the city. It’s not underground the whole way, but the aboveground part is only when we get into the city itself, and then it goes under again.

“If Petey were here,” Clint says, plugging his nose as we go into the second tunnel and the air pressure rises, “he’d point out how bipolar the geography around here is. All these hills poppin’ up all over the place, and water on three sides.”

“No wonder real estate here is so expensive,” I say. “There’s just not enough land for everyone.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

We finally get to 24th Street/Mission station after a long ride through the tunnel. This station apparently is even deeper underground than the one in San Castiel - the escalator ride up to the entrance level takes a full minute, and even then we’re still one story below street level.

“Okay, where to now?” I ask.

Clint consults his phone again, getting directions off his map app. (Haha, I made a rhyme.) “Hang on,” he says. “Sometimes, after I’ve been out of service for a while, it’s hard to get back in service again.”

“Is that an old phone?” I ask, peering at the case - it does look like an older iPhone variety. I think it even has the older-style USB port for the connection and charger cables.

“Yeah, but it still works like a charm most of the time,” Clint says. “I just never bothered upgrading ‘cause my parents...my dad’s been out of a job for a while, and he hasn’t had a permanent job in almost five years, so we can’t exactly afford the latest models right now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“That’s why I got into journalism class,” Clint continues. “‘Cause based on my dad’s example, the tech industry is too competitive for me. I’m just not that pushy, you know?” He holds up his phone so he can get a better look at the screen; with so much glare from the sun, I imagine it’s hard to see anything. “Finally. Come on, this way.”

Clint leads me up and down the streets of the Mission district for a while, until eventually his phone chimes at us, like a car’s GPS system, to tell us we’ve reached our destination. I look around and the first thing I see is a coffee shop on the first floor of a townhouse on the corner. “This is it?” I ask, sniffing the air and smelling baked goods.

“Yep.” Clint walks through the glass door, and I follow him in. He goes up to the counter and starts talking to a middle-aged woman - her name tag reads “Cass.” I gaze at the donuts and éclairs lining the shelves of a glass display case while Clint does all the talking. Various words and phrases filter into my brain - “Where’s Peter?...I was told he’d be here...Okay...Thanks anyway...No, that’s all right, he’s got my number.”

I stick around long enough to buy a maple-glazed donut - since my parents decided to cut down on their sugar intake, there’s been no Saturday-morning trips to the donut shop in almost a year. That, and because Dad’s a cop, he doesn’t really want to perpetuate any stereotypes.

“Who was that woman?” I ask. “Not their mom, I’m guessing.”

“What, just ‘cause she’s white instead of Asian?” Clint laughs. “The Hamadas are actually half-white, anyway. That lady is their Aunt Cass.”

“Oh. So where are their parents?”

“No idea. I didn’t ask.”

“Uh-huh.” The donut dissolves into sweet deliciousness as I start to eat it. I even let out a few little moans, prompting Clint to look funny at me.

“What?” I ask, a defiant edge to my tone. “You could’ve gotten one too, if you’d like.”

“I’m tryin’ to save my money,” Clint says. “Remember? No permanent jobs in my household right now.”

“You gonna get a summer job, then?”

“I think so.”

“Where?”

Clint shuffles his feet. “Maybe at Elephant Bar?”

I nod approvingly. “At least it’s a job. Do they still do that steak sandwich with only one bun?”

“I...uh...I don’t think so. That’s a thing there?”

“It was last time I ate there, which was, let’s be honest, more years ago than I have fingers to - ow!” A small but heavy object falls onto my head. In my surprise, both of my hands fly to the top of my head to rub it, and I end up dropping my donut. “Crap,” I groan, seeing the half-eaten donut on the ground. Luckily, the uneaten half is securely inside the paper wrapper, so I don’t even need to worry about the five-second rule.

But as for the object that hit me - I have no idea what it was, and I don’t see it anywhere else around me. “Clint, did you see anything?” I ask.

“No, I didn’t - oh wait, what’s that up there?” Clint points to an upper window of the Hamadas’ house, where a funny-looking metal thing is sitting on the windowsill.

“How’d you spot that?” I ask, raising one hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun. “You must have really good hawk eyes.”

The thing on the windowsill raises a claw-like appendage, then drops a tiny metal ball that it’s been holding. This time, Clint and I both duck out of the way, and we see the metal object break into a series of smaller ones. These smaller things are then carried away on the wind - but then I realize they are moving against the wind, not with it.

Then the thing leaps down and lands on the sidewalk in front of us. Now that we can finally get a good look at it, we see that it consists of three metal balls, each one with two roughly conical arms protruding from it. The uppermost ball has a yellow face painted on it, flashing a toothy grin.

“Huh,” I say. “This must be one of Hiro’s inventions.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno,” I say. “The face seems like something a younger boy would put on his robot.”

“Good point,” Clint says. The robot jumps into the air, only getting about three inches off the ground. “Hey, you think he’s tryin’ to tell us something?”

The robot points down the street. I could swear it’s making little squeaky noises of excitement every time it jumps and points. “Should we follow it?” I ask.

“Why not?” Clint says. “Maybe it’ll get us a little closer to figurin’ this crap out. And if it doesn’t pan out, the BART station’s that way anyway, so we can just go back home.”

“True.” I look down at the robot again. “Um, go get ‘em, boy,” I say. I know, it’s a robot, not a dog. But the robot listens to me, scurrying down the street like a little jointed metal squirrel. Every so often, it races up a light pole, then swings from it until it can leap to the next one. I think it might just be showing off.

Before long, the robot leads us right back to the BART station. It slides effortlessly down the banister, then waves Clint and me impatiently down the stairs when it reaches the bottom long before we do. The gates are still open for free, so we pass through those. Then the robot spins around on one foot for a while before zeroing in on its next target - a vending machine.

“You think it’s hungry?” I ask Clint, watching the robot jumping in vain, pointing vaguely at something inside the machine. Neither of us can figure out what it wants, until Clint thinks to lift the robot up so it can look. It actually shakes its head a few times as Clint moves it up and down the rows of snacks, until finally it settles on a pack of Gummi Bears, nodding until we’re sure its head might fall off.

“I’ll take care of this,” I say, pulling out the change from my donut. It’s more than enough for the Gummi Bears, so I deposit the money.

In the distance, I can hear an old-fashioned phone jangling loudly. I look around and see a small bank of pay phones on the other side of the station lobby. The robot perks up at the sound too, then jumps out of Clint’s hands and zips on over to the phones.

“I’ll follow it,” I say. “You just get the candy. And the change.”

I leave Clint to take care of that, then go over to the pay phone. The robot stands in front of the ringing one, and I pick it up. Even though I’m aware of how possibly germ-infested this public pay phone is, I hold the phone up to my ear and ask, “Hello?”

“Huh?” a boy’s voice calls out - is that Hiro talking? “Who is this?”

“Is this-” I begin, but then I’m cut off when someone sneaks up behind me and holds a dangerously sharp-looking yellow disc near my neck.

“Where’d you get that robot?” a woman’s voice whispers in my other ear.

I squirm a bit, trying to get away, but the woman’s got too good a hold on me. I can still turn my head, though, and I yell, “Clint!”

Clint, who’s talking to a tall dark-skinned blonde woman, whirls around, sees me, and runs across the lobby, yelling, “HEY! What’s your problem, lady?”

“Go-Go, what the heck are you doing?” the blonde asks, trailing after Clint.

The woman with the sharp disc lets me go. I can finally see her - she’s Asian, and goth, with a purple streak in her hair. “Just had to make sure she was okay, Honey,” she says.

“I could’ve told you that,” Honey says, rolling her eyes behind her red-framed glasses. She looks much more pleasant than this Go-Go lady, or whatever her name is. Her sunnier wardrobe (all yellow and white) definitely helps.

“Hi there,” Honey says, flashing me peace signs with both hands. “I’m Honey Lemon, and this jumpy type here is Go-Go Tomago. Who are you?”

Clint and I introduce ourselves, then, like at the coffee shop, he does all the talking. “We’re lookin’ for our friend,” he says. “His name is Peter Parker, and last time we saw him, the Hamadas took him somewhere. We don’t know where.”

“I might,” Go-Go says. “They’re still parked at the airport, right?”

Honey checks her phone. “Nobody’s texted me sayin’ they left, so I guess so, yeah.”

“What are they doin’ at the airport?” I ask.

“Part of their assignment with SHIELD, I think,” Go-Go says. “Come on, let’s go. If we hurry, we could still catch them.”

“Yeah, maybe if you drive,” Honey laughs.

Go-Go’s eyes take on a dangerous gleam, and Honey’s smile shrinks away with hilarious slowness. “No,” she says emphatically. “Go-Go, last time you drove, you wrecked Wasabi’s ride. My car’s brand-new, too!”

“I promise I’ll get us to the airport in one piece,” Go-Go says, crossing her heart. “Now come on already!”

Clint and I stay behind while the two ladies run for the stairs. Honey soon turns around and asks, “Aren’t you guys coming?”

“Um…” Clint starts.

“We kinda have to…” I say, but my voice trails off.

“Hiro’s robot sure likes you,” Go-Go remarks with a short laugh. I look down and see the robot wrapping its little arms around my ankle - the only part of me it can reach. At least it’s not humping me like a dog. “If he didn’t like you, trust me, you’d know about it,” Go-Go adds.

I sigh heavily. “Okay. I guess you’ve convinced me. You comin’, Clint?”

Clint looks around towards the escalator to the subway platform, then slumps his shoulders. “Yeah, I’ll come with. It’s not as if I really got anything else to do, you know what I mean?”

“Awesome!” cries Honey. She leads the way out of the station and over to a small Mazda van, where two men - one black, one white - are sitting inside already. The black man introduces himself as Wasabi, and quickly explains that it’s because of his fondness for spicy sushi - “not,” he insists, “for spillin’ wasabi on my shirt. That was one time, people!”

Go-Go snickers as she gets into the driver’s seat. “And hey, this time he brought it up himself. How’s that for progress?”

Wasabi buries his face in his hands.

The white guy, who’s sitting next to me in the backseat, raises his hands for high-fives from me and Clint. “‘Sup, dudes? Name’s Fred,” he says, completing the skater-punk persona already shown in his attire - knit cap, long-sleeve tee, and cargo shorts. Apart from the beanie, Fred’s outfit isn’t all that different from the one Hiro Hamada was wearing today. The difference is that his clothes look faded and a little dirty, like they haven’t been properly laundered. Maybe they’re the kind of clothes that are deliberately made “vintage?”

Go-Go starts the engine. “One piece, Honey,” she says, angling the rearview mirror so she can see her. “I promise.”

“Just get on with it,” Honey says, looking a bit worried.

No sooner does Go-Go start driving down the street than we all hear a faint rumble. Everyone cringes - we’re all fearing the worst. The start of the next Big One.

It’s not an earthquake, but there’s still people screaming as they run out of the BART station. And before long, we see what they’re running from - a bunch of creepy creatures with pale skin, pointed ears, and solid black eyes.

“Holy crap,” Fred whispers, awestruck. “Dark Elves. They do exist!”

“Floor it!” Honey yells.

She doesn’t need to tell Go-Go twice. The little van jumps out of its parking space and screeches its way down the street at high speed. I look back and see a number of Dark Elves following us.

One of them is armed with a huge crossbow, which it’s priming with an arrow. Ready...aim...fire.

“They’re shooting at us!” I yell.

“I can see that!” Go-Go swerves onto Mission Street, making a hard right.

Unfortunately, there’s already a traffic jam in the making - we’re clearly not the only ones trying to get out of the area. And the Elves are still following us, readying more arrows.

Go-Go curses under her breath. “Honey, I’m really sorry,” she says, turning the steering wheel as far to the right as it will go, “but I think I’m gonna have to break my promise.”

“What? No!” But it’s too late. Even as Honey begs her to stop, Go-Go is already stomping on the gas, heading for the narrow gap between two cars ahead of us.


	4. Here's Your Ticket, Pack Your Bag

*****GWEN*****

Even with our seatbelts on, we all swing around in the car as Go-Go swerves around the traffic. Soon, we lose sight of the Dark Elves - until they start firing their arrows through the cars around us, probably hoping to hit us. I try not to think about how many people could be getting hurt or killed by those things. The funny thing is, though, it seems the death toll from the Elves’ arrows is all of zero. None of them actually pass through any people, if the lack of blood and guts emerging from the cars along with the arrows is anything to go by.

In fact, I come to suspect that they’re missing things on purpose. They look like they could hit their targets every time if they wanted to, being supernatural abominations and all. But why would they…?

“Look ahead!” yells Wasabi, pointing frantically through the windshield.

“I see them!” Go-Go turns abruptly onto a different street, heading east. I catch a brief glimpse of a street sign and see that we’re now on Cesar Chavez Street. Behind us, Dark Elves spill onto Cesar Chavez, coming off Mission from both north and south. Now that their distraction is over, they’re not even trying to miss anymore. Every one of their arrows comes within a hair of striking the van. Our lives are pretty much in Go-Go’s hands as she expertly uses them to drive us out of danger.

“Um...Go-Go,” Honey says as we get onto 280, “where are we going?”

“To the airport, of course,” Go-Go says.

“Are you crazy?” Honey cries. “We can’t lead those things to the Bus! If they don’t kill us, Coulson might!”

“We’re too valuable for Coulson,” Go-Go says. “And he’s too good to kill anyone who isn’t a bad guy.”

Wasabi shakes his head. “I’m with Honey on this one. Those things are tryin’ to kill us. What say we just stop here and make a stand?”

“You mean, fight the Dark Elves?” Fred asks. His grin expands. “Oh hell yeah. I’m game. Anyone else?”

“But...but we don’t have any of our gear on us,” Honey says. “Besides Go-Go, of course. And we got two civilians with us, so we can’t-” She pauses, then looks into the backseat. “Gwen, Clint, what do you guys think?”

“What do we think?” I ask, flabbergasted. “We have absolutely no idea what to do!”

Clint nods energetically along with my words.

Honey turns back to Go-Go. “There you go. I say we make a break for it. The Bus has more than enough weapons to stop these Dark Elves anyway if we have to.”

The van slows down a little bit - I guess Go-Go’s taking a bit of pressure off the accelerator. “That’s three in favor, three against,” she says. “How do we break the tie, then?”

Fred bends down and grabs the little jointed robot, which has been sitting between his and Wasabi’s seats this whole time. “Let’s just ask Hiro’s little Megabot thingy,” he says, picking it up.

“Right,” Clint laughs. “Go all Magic 8 Ball on that robot toy.”

Fred ignores Clint and looks at the robot, doing his best to match its goofy painted-on grin. “Megabot, should we stop and fight the dreaded Dark Elves, or should we run to the Bus and fight them there?”

The robot’s face spins around. Not its entire head, just its face, which switches the yellow grinny one for a nasty red one. Then it starts jumping all over Fred’s head and shoulders, delivering vicious little robot-slaps everywhere it can reach. I start to laugh at the sight - clearly, the robot isn’t actually hurting Fred, but it’s still really funny to watch.

“Aaaugh!” Fred cries, trying to pull Megabot off of him. “Dude, Hiro, call it off already!”

I’m about to point out to Fred that Hiro’s not here, but then Megabot ends its attack, sliding off Fred’s face and onto his lap. Its face switches back to the grin, but then it inclines its head, as if in apology. It’s hard to tell, though - the robot’s expression and body language don’t match up. Then again, the robot only has two faces to choose from anyway, and if it switches to the other one, apparently that means Attack Mode.

“All right,” Wasabi says, picking Megabot up himself. “So is that a yes on the ‘stop and fight’ thing?”

Megabot’s face changes back to the angry red one, and Wasabi drops it in horror. “No, no, no!” he yells rapidly. “Don’t jump me!”

Another change of face for Megabot. “I wish this thing could talk,” Fred groans. “Then we’d have an easier time tryin’ to figure out what the heck it’s sayin’.”

Megabot crosses its stubby arms, then skitters over to Fred’s window and starts tapping one of its metal hands rhythmically against the glass. “Is that Morse code?” I ask.

“I think so,” Clint says. “I have no idea what it’s saying, though. I can’t understand Morse code. It always comes in way too fast. Like French.”

“I know what you mean,” I say, trying to listen to Megabot’s tapping, but it’s so fast I can’t keep up with it. And I don’t even know most of Morse code anyway, except for the three letters everyone knows: “· · · ——— · · ·” - that is, S.O.S.

Honey, however, seems to understand it pretty well. She grabs a notepad from the glove compartment and starts transcribing the message Megabot’s been tapping out. “I only got a partial on that one, Hiro,” she says when she’s done. Curiously, she pronounces Hiro’s name the Japanese way, with the “R” being halfway between an “R” and an “L.” “Could you repeat that, please?”

Megabot starts tapping again, and Honey writes down more words on the notepad. “Okay, got it,” she says. “Thanks.”

Megabot jumps down into Fred’s lap (Fred looks at it with a little bit of fear, as if he’s afraid it’ll go all angry-face on his family jewels) and takes a theatrical bow.

“So what did he say, Honey?” Go-Go asks.

Honey reads the message from the beginning. “ _‘Don’t fight. Bring the Elves to the Bus. We’ll take ‘em down there.’_  And I think the ‘’em’ was supposed to be ‘them,’ but I never caught the whole word.” She looks around and is met by blank faces from everyone behind her. “And that’s not important,” she adds.

Go-Go stomps on the gas again. “I hate runnin’ from a fight,” she groans.

I look around and see a single Dark Elf running down the freeway after us. It’s not drawing back its bow to shoot anymore, probably so it can concentrate on keeping pace with us. These things are hella fast - maybe cheetah fast - but as long as Go-Go keeps her foot on the accelerator, we’ll be giving it a decent challenge.

In no time, we’re barreling down 101 and heading out of the city. I’m surprised we don’t get pulled over by the CHP or anybody before we reach our final destination. I’m also very surprised when Clint and I discover what our final destination actually is.

“SFO? Are you kidding?” I ask as Go-Go drives off the freeway and heads for a back entrance to the airport.

“We aren’t exactly ready for international travel here,” Clint says. “Gwen, do you have your passport?”

I pat my pockets for emphasis as I say, “No.”

“Relax,” Fred says. “We’re not gonna leave the country. Not yet, anyway.”

“Then why are we about to catch a plane?” I ask, pointing to the big black jumbo jet sitting on the tarmac about a hundred feet ahead of us. Sitting, but not idling - I can hear its huge engines already fired up.

“That’s our ride,” Fred says.

“I thought you said we were gonna catch a bus,” Clint says warily.

“This is the Bus,” Go-Go says, gesturing through the windshield as she steers the van onto a ramp leading into the plane’s loading bay. “Even after SHIELD fell, these guys still got the best of the best. Unless it’s our tech, of course.”

“Yes. Of course.” Honey’s voice takes on a sickeningly sweet tone. “Maybe one of us can invent a piece of tech that repairs broken car mirrors?” She points out her window, and the rest of us crane our necks to look. Sure enough, the side mirror on Honey’s door is missing, possibly broken off during our run through the crowded San Fransokyo streets.

“I promised I’d get us all to the Bus in one piece,” Go-Go says, turning the van off and picking up the sharp yellow disc she’d brought with her. “By that, I meant all us people.” She glances down at Megabot, whose face starts to change. “And Megabot. I said nothing about-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Honey says, waving her hands and grabbing her purse. “You’re just lucky we’re about to fight Dark Elves to the death, or I’d really let you know how seriously teed off I am right now.”

She climbs out of the van, followed by the others. Clint and I hang back in the backseat, unsure of what to do. These guys clearly know what they’re doing, getting suited up in crazy superhero-type outfits as they prepare for battle. I can even see Hiro hurriedly strapping on a dark purple armored suit and putting a similar red suit on his inflatable robot. Baymax, I think it was called. But wasn’t it a medical robot? What’s it doing getting ready to fight?

A loud rapping noise on the window startles Clint and me. Tadashi and Skye are both standing outside the van, holding a total of three guns between them. Two for Tadashi, one for Skye.

“Here,” Tadashi says as I climb out, handing me the gun. “Don’t worry, these things are specially designed. They’ll work on anything, even Dark Elves.”

I lift the gun in one hand, making sure to point it away from any humans. “What does it fire?” I ask. “Plain old bullets? Silver ones?”

“Icers, actually,” Skye says. “Tranquilizers,” she adds as I stare blankly at her. “We used to call ‘em ‘Night-Night Guns,’ but that name kinda fell out of fashion, for obvious reasons.”

“I dunno,” Tadashi says, leveling his own Icer. “I still like the original name better.”

“So do I,” I say. “It makes more sense, given what it’s used for.” I look at Clint, who’s halfway out the van door, one foot hovering over the floor. “Um, why is he still unarmed?”

“Oh, crap, I forgot,” Skye says, smacking her forehead with her free hand. “Excuse me…” She goes into the back of another car - a black SUV sitting next to an old red Corvette - and extracts, of all weapons, a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

“Say what?” Clint asks, looking askance at the arrows. “I’m not exactly Katniss Everdeen here.”

“Trust me, you’re better than you know,” Skye says. “I’ll give you the same little mini-lecture I gave Peter - let your muscle memory guide you.”

“What?” Clint looks shocked. “Peter can use this thing too?”

“Not exactly,” Skye says. “But you saw him liftin’ Baymax before, right?”

“I heard about it, but what does that have to do with - and hell,” Clint says, looking around wildly, “where’s Peter so he can tell me this himself?”

“If we survive this,” Skye says, “the first thing we’ll do is take you guys to Peter. Oh look, there’s an Elf now!” She points out onto the tarmac, where a single Dark Elf, probably the same one that’s been following us out of the city, is about to shoot an arrow. “Everyone stand back - this one’s for Hawkeye!”

“Who’s Hawkeye?” I ask.

“That’s just what we call Clint here,” Tadashi says, eyeballing Clint for a second.

“Me? What? But you guys don’t even know me!”

“Shoot it!” Skye yells, pointing at the Elf again.

She doesn’t need to tell Clint twice. He raises the bow, draws it back in only a couple of seconds, then fires. His arrow strikes the Elf right in the head, causing it to sink slowly to its knees, then collapse completely. Like a dead walker on  _The Walking Dead._

Clint looks at the bow, gasping and stuttering as he tries to speak. “How...h-how...how did I do that?” he asks.

“No time to explain,” Tadashi says. “They’re really comin’  _en masse_  now. Shoot first, ask questions later, guys!” He sticks his head out over the roof of Honey’s van and fires his Night-Night Gun a few times. The two Elves nearest to the plane both get winged on the arm, but don’t go down the way the other one did.

Not yet, anyway.

The rest of the job is taken care of by Hiro and all his friends. Hiro and Baymax fly around the Elves, running interference and providing a substantial target for their arrows. Fred is dressed as some kind of mini-Godzilla creature with a hole for a mouth, through which it actually breathes flames. It seems the Dark Elves don’t like fire; they run screeching from every blast Fred sends their way. Wasabi has a pair of laser blades, one attached to each hand, and with these, he’s able to literally cut down several Elves, usually at the knee, but sometimes at the waist. Go-Go, meanwhile, takes off more Dark Elf heads with her lethal discs.

Honey’s weapon of choice, though, is the one I find the most impressive. Every so often, she taps her purse - at one point, she turns around, and I can see a light-up keyboard on the side. Then a bright neon-colored ball rolls out, and she throws it at a cluster of Dark Elves. The result is impressive, if disgusting - the balls explode into colorful, sticky goop, trapping the Elves like rats in the glue traps my parents used to buy for the house.

Between all of this, and the constant fire from the Night-Night Guns (and Clint’s bow and arrows), the Dark Elves don’t last very long in their assault. Within five minutes, the tarmac is littered with their corpses, not to mention soaked in blood, brain matter, and whatever Honey’s balls of gunge are made out of.

“Everyone inside!” Skye orders as soon as there are no live enemies left to speak of. Once everyone’s gathered back inside the cargo bay, Skye places a quick call to someone named Coulson - I remember Honey and Go-Go had mentioned the name before. Whoever he is, he’s probably inside the plane, because as soon as Skye lets him know that the threat has been neutralized, the cargo bay ramp closes, sealing us inside. Then the plane takes off.

“Wait a minute,” I ask. “Who’s gonna clean up the mess we’ve just made?”

“We’ve got it covered, don’t worry,” Honey says. “My chemicals break down harmlessly within an hour or so.”

Skye holsters her Night-Night Gun and points to a spiral staircase at the back of the room. “If you guys wanna see Peter and Tony,” she says, “they’re upstairs in the media room. I bet they’ve already started the movie by now, but you’re welcome to join them. You’ve probably only missed the first couple of minutes anyway.”

“What movie?” Clint asks.

“ _The Amazing Spider-Man 2,_ ” Hiro cuts in. “But not the  _Amazing Spider-Man 2_  you guys might know. This one is literally out of this world.”

I look up at Hiro, who’s already halfway up the spiral steps. “I’m almost afraid to find out what that means,” I say.

“Come on up and find out,” Hiro says. “I’ll lead the way.”

“You’re gonna watch that movie again?” Tadashi asks, raising his eyebrow.

“Why not? I love that movie.” Hiro looks down at Wasabi, who’s busy removing his laser gauntlets. “So do you, don’t you? Electro is basically evil you!”

“Oh, what, just ‘cause I’m a black guy who’s into electric crap?” Wasabi rolls his eyes, but then grins at Hiro. “Want some popcorn?”

“Ranch powder and extra salt?”

Wasabi rubs his belly. “Dude, you read my mind. You sure that neural-cranial transmitter doohickey isn’t rubbin’ off on you?”

Hiro laughs and climbs all the way up to the top step. “Let’s just get the snacks, buddy,” he says.

Clint and I look at each other, shrug our shoulders, and follow Hiro and Wasabi upstairs. Hiro stops to point out the door to the media room before he and Wasabi detour over to the kitchen.

We step into the media room, and the first thing we see is Peter and Tony sitting next to each other in movie-theater-style reclining seats, complete with cup holders in the armrests. I then look past them and see the images on the screen. It’s the first shot of  _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_  to feature the title character, free-falling over the middle of New York before using his webline to swing out and start following an Oscorp truck hijacked by Russian mobsters.

It’s a funny scene, and I laugh out loud when Spidey knocks on the driver’s door, nonchalant as ever. Peter turns around and waves to me and Clint silently. He’s not laughing - which is my first clue that something’s wrong. Unless you don’t have a sense of humor, there should be no reason for this scene not to leave you in stitches.

I take a seat next to Peter, with Clint coming in behind him. I’m tempted to ask what’s going on, but that would mean talking over a movie, and I’m not that rude.

It’s not long before I get a clue about why these people are having us watch this specific movie. Eventually, Spider-Man gets stuck to the front of the Oscorp truck, and he also gets a phone call. As he answers it, the scene shifts between Spidey and his girlfriend, who’s waiting for him to show up at their high school graduation.

But it’s not the same scene I remember. Sure, the settings are identical, but the dialogue has a couple of noticeable differences. Mostly when Spidey and his girl address each other by name - calling each other not Cade and Sarah, but Peter and Gwen.

And there’s also the fact that the girl on the other end of the phone call - the girl who happens to share a name with me - is so very obviously not being played by Jennette McCurdy. She’s blonde, sure, but her hair is lighter and straighter. And she’s not quite as full-figured.

In fact, she looks exactly like me.


	5. A Spiderweb, And I'm Caught In The Middle

*****PETER*****

Gwen’s mouth drops open as she recognizes herself on the screen. I can only imagine the shock she must be experiencing right now. It’s probably nothing compared to what I’m feeling at the moment, though.

“That’s...that’s…” Gwen can’t even speak.

“I know, right?” Stark says. “I dunno where they got scans of you guys’ faces, but damn, the CGI job is amazing.” Gwen and I both glare at him. “What? I can’t be the only one thinkin’ it. You, um…” He snaps his fingers until he remembers Barton’s name. “Clint, tell me you agree with me. There’s no way this shit’s real.”

“I’m afraid this ‘shit,’” says Coulson as he comes back into the room, complete with air quotes, “is in fact real.” He looks at me in particular. “And it’s more real for you than for the others, isn’t it, Peter?”

“I...um...what?” How can Coulson possibly know what’s going on in my head? Unless he’s telepathic or something? Wouldn’t surprise me.

“It’s all right,” Coulson says, sitting down next to Barton. “You’ve never had any kind of therapy, have you? Well, think of this as group therapy. It’s a safe space. You can tell us what’s troubling you.”

I look at everyone else, seeing them look back at me with concern on all their faces. Even Stark, as much as he’s trying to look detached and neutral, can’t resist that human impulse.

“I haven’t told anyone about this,” I say.

“So there is something wrong, then,” Coulson says. “I promise, I won’t think you’re crazy or lying or anything. In my line of work, you have to have some level of mental illness in order to succeed anyway.”

I sigh and drop my head into my hands. Then I take another look at the screen. The movie’s still playing, and the graduation is over. The Spider-Man who looks exactly like me, right down to the light stubble on his face, is looking at Gwen - not Sarah Reagan - while she gathers with her own family, and behind them is the ghost of her father, a specter only Spider-Man can see.

It’s supposed to be Sarah’s father, but he looks different. A little younger, a little more handsome. And somehow, I know he’s Gwen’s real father.

“I’m gonna tell the truth here,” I say. “But I don’t even believe what I’m seein’ myself.”

“Go on,” Coulson says.

I sigh again. “Okay. I’ve been dreaming that I was Spider-Man. And that you were Sarah Reagan, Gwen.”

“I was Sarah Reagan?” Gwen asks. “Huh. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“But in my dream, it’s always the scene where Sarah dies.” I look at Gwen, seeing horror dawn in her eyes. “And because it’s you in the dream instead of Sarah...you’re the one who dies instead. Every time I try to stop it, but I can’t.”

“You...what…?” Gwen is lost for words.

Coulson nods gravely. “And now those dreams aren’t just dreams anymore, are they, Peter? Seeing the real record of what happened has reawakened your memories.”

“Are you telling me this is real?” I ask, gesturing at the screen. “It can’t be. It’s just a movie.”

Coulson brings his hands together. “I’m gonna have to tell you kids a little story. A few years ago, me and my team, we encountered an insane man. An assassin. He called himself Deadpool, and for a very long time, we couldn’t take him down. It didn’t help that he could heal like nothing we’d ever seen before.

“Of course, eventually, we caught up to him. How and when isn’t important. It’s what happened after we caught him that you’ll really want to hear.” Coulson looks at the screen. “The strange thing about Deadpool was, he was convinced he was living in a comic book, and that everyone he talked to was just a reader. He thought he was breaking the fourth wall all the time, as it were.”

“So...he was schizo?” Stark asks.

“It was more than that, though,” Coulson says. “My team scanned his brain, and we confirmed that he was forever caught between two universes, mentally speaking. Our home world - that is, the home world for myself and my team - and this world, where we are now.”

“You’re not from this world?” Barton asks, laughing a bit. “So, what, you guys are aliens?”

“No, no, we’re all human here,” Coulson says with a quick grin. “We eventually found our way to this universe, to Deadpool’s world, and after we brought him here, his symptoms diminished a great deal. It was like being back home helped him recover his grip on reality.”

“Symptoms of what?” Stark asks. “Deadpool Syndrome?”

“That’s exactly what Skye called it,” Coulson says. “It’s not exactly something you’d find in the DSM, but we were able to pinpoint a sort of symptom list. Continuous breaks from reality, remembering memories you don’t even have, that sort of thing.

“Also, with Deadpool’s return home, he was able to remember why he was in our world to begin with. You see, in our world, the Avengers, like what you see in the movies, they’re real. Iron Man, Captain America, the Hulk, Thor...they all exist.” Coulson stops as Barton and I begin laughing inappropriately loudly. “What? Did I make a joke? I usually don’t mean to, but sometimes it just happens.”

“You mean to tell me,” Barton says between snorts of laughter, “that Thor Odinsson is supposed to be some kind of Avenger? I mean, he’s cool, but not  _that_  cool.”

“I’m glad you made that leap of logic,” Coulson says. “The Avengers do exist...but very recently, they all vanished without a trace. As did Spider-Man, who for whatever reason never affiliated with the Avengers, though my boss at SHIELD was always interested in taking him on. And now, we’ve found them here, in a world where they don’t belong.”

“So you’re saying I’m Spider-Man,” I say slowly, “and Gwen is Sarah Reagan-”

“No,” Coulson interrupts. “Gwen is Gwen. Sarah Reagan is entirely fictional, a creation of this world to mask your true memories. Clearly, it failed, however, because you were still able to remember the truth, at least in your dreams. Also, while we’re on the subject, Clint is Hawkeye, and Tony is Iron Man.”

“No, I’m not,” Barton and Stark say simultaneously.

“That’s not possible,” Stark adds. “How can it be? We’re teenagers. Hawkeye and Iron Man are...well...men.”

“We’ve determined that, for some reason, when you were brought to this world, you were all made into teenagers,” Coulson says. “Why, we still have no idea. But the fact remains, someone or something brought you to this alternate universe, for reasons unknown, and wiped all your memories so you were, effectively, made normal.” He looks at me again. “And now you’ve not only started recovering your memories, Peter, but you’ve also started rediscovering your powers.”

“That brings up another hypothesis of ours,” says a female voice - not Skye’s. This girl has an English accent, and is all white as opposed to half-Asian. “Jemma Simmons,” she says. “I’m the team’s resident biologist.”

“Someone tell me which of the Avengers have actual superpowers, as opposed to high-tech toys or unusual weapons proficiency,” Coulson says. “No disrespect to you, Clint, Tony.”

“How can we be offended by that?” Stark asks, rolling his eyes. “If I’m really Iron Man without his memories, I wouldn’t even remember all the sweet stuff I’d invented, would I?”

Coulson nods. “Right. But, again, the Avengers with superpowers…?”

“Thor, of course,” I say, ticking his name off on my finger. “Hulk, Captain America...that’s it, right?”

“Exactly,” says Simmons. “You’re not the only one remembering what’s really happened, Mr. Parker. It seems that those with superpowers...whatever wiped their memories didn’t take as well as for those without. That said, though, it is still possible to trigger recall for non-gifted individuals.”

“How can you be sure?” Gwen asks.

“We’ve already done it once,” Simmons says. “Just once, though. And we’re not supposed to talk about it yet, are we, boss?”

Coulson shakes his head. “We need to keep that particular experiment going as long as possible. It’s painful, I know.”

“But can we attempt it again?” Simmons asks. Her words, taken by themselves, might suggest that she’s excited to do another experiment. But her voice is careful not to betray any emotion.

“That’s what these three are here for,” Coulson says. “We’ll see how quickly we can reawaken their memories. Starting with you, Gwen, since we’ve got your movie on right now anyway. I should warn you, though - it’s gonna be a huge shock to your system. You might end up in a catatonic state, even. Because...well, to put it mildly, what you’ll see on the screen if you choose to continue, you’ll never be able to unsee.”

Gwen puts her hand over her mouth. I know she’s seen the movie before - not the version we’re watching right now, but the one that I saw in theaters. She must know what’s coming.

“I’ll do it,” she says, her jaw stiffening. “If I have these memories you’re talkin’ about, go ahead and unlock them.”

Now it’s my turn to look at Gwen with concern - and maybe a little bit of fear - instead of the other way around. “Are you sure about this?”

“Don’t you need some kind of parental consent for this?” Stark asks. “Legally speaking, of course. I mean, you’re not a minor, are you?”

“My parents would never consent to this, I bet,” Gwen says. “But I feel like I have no choice anyway.”

“That’s not true,” Coulson says. “You can absolutely elect not to go forward. And besides, it’s possible that since you’re not gifted, your memories will take a little more work to coax out of your unconscious than simply watching a movie.”

“Don’t you mean ‘subconscious?’” Skye asks.

“I think he does mean ‘unconscious,’” says Simmons.

“I’m gonna do it,” Gwen says. “That’s it. No more questions. Let’s just get it over with.”

Coulson opens his mouth again, then nods silently instead. He then gets up and goes to the back of the room, where he picks up a remote control and uses it to navigate to the one scene to which we all knew he was going to jump.

The scene that’s been in my nightmares for weeks.

The scene that’s sure to be in Gwen’s nightmares too after this moment.

I watch as Gwen stares at the screen, her facial expressions disturbingly mirroring those of her on-screen counterpart. But mostly the helpless shock when movie-Gwen is falling to her death.

At the moment when it actually happens, here-and-now-Gwen actually gasps and slumps forward in her seat, very slowly. For a second, my heart stops - is she dead for real too?

Then she raises her head, tears falling silently from her eyes.

I’m the first one to offer her a hug. She stiffens at first, then her arms wrap around me. I can feel her breath on my neck, the heat coming in spurts as she breathes raggedly through her sobs.

“I...I...I remember.” Gwen’s voice is reduced to a breathy whisper.

“What do you remember?” I ask.

Gwen blinks, her eyes still glistening and wet. “I remember...I remember dying.”

At this point, she gets up and leaves the room, trying her hardest to make sure we can’t hear her crying. It’s not working, though. I wait a few seconds before following her out the door and down the hall. Along the way, I pass by a little round porthole and see that the plane’s already in the air. I hadn’t even noticed we’d taken off.

Gwen is sitting under another porthole, her shoulders shaking. “It’s all right,” I say, my eyes welling up with tears as well. “I’m here for you.”

“You...you say that now, but you were there for me when I died too.”

“I know.” I hold Gwen tightly, using the back of my hand to wipe the tears from her face. “I know.”

There are really no words to express the pain we both feel. The memories she’s recovered, the memories that have been creeping into my dreams...how any human being can live with them is beyond me. The moment is made even more strange by my feelings for Gwen. I now fully understand that what I’ve got isn’t just some schoolboy puppy-love crush. In my sort-of past life, and in this one, I genuinely love her, and seeing her in this terrible state is really doing a number on my own emotions.

But having her in my arms feels so natural and perfect, no matter what the circumstances.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” says Coulson’s voice. He’s standing a few feet away from us, with everyone else who had been in the media room hanging back a little more. “At least your reaction wasn’t as violent as we expected.”

Gwen pulls out of my grasp and stands up. As I follow suit, she says, “That’s...good to know.”

I smother a chuckle. I can easily see Gwen using humor as a defense mechanism. She must have inherited it from her dad. Another memory of mine eerily paralleling the  _Amazing Spider-Man_  movies involves me trying to warn her dad about the Lizard, only for him to start cracking jokes about how he’s not the mayor of Tokyo.

And another memory of mine resurfaces right now, in which I see Gwen’s dad dying after getting slashed up by said Lizard. Coulson didn’t show us the first  _Amazing Spider-Man_  movie, but I can guess that there’s a version of that with me and Gwen and Gwen’s dad in there as characters.

“What are we gonna do now?” I ask. “You said we were goin’ to New York, but what’s the point of that if you’ve already started us gettin’ our memories back?”

“Not all of your memories are back,” Coulson says. “The movies help, but they can’t call back everything. The best thing we’ve found is to take you back to where you came from, the way we did with Deadpool.”

Hiro bursts out of another room - probably the kitchen, because Wasabi comes out right after him with popcorn in hand. “We’re about to go through the gate!” Hiro yells.

“Gate? What gate?” asks Stark.

Skye cracks a smile and rubs her hands together. “Oh, you’re gonna love this,” she says. “Everyone look out the window...now!”

We all gather around the portholes to watch. Within seconds, a huge black ring, just big enough for the plane to pass through it, comes into view. It’s floating in the air, and in its center is a shining light.

“What, that leads to the other universe you were talkin’ about?” asks Barton.

“And you’re sayin’ that when we’re there, we’ll get our lost memories back?” Stark asks.

Coulson shakes his head. “You don’t have to be back home to recover your memories. Like we said, though, it does help if you’re back home.”

The plane goes through the gate, and for a second, the light shines through the windows. I’m forced to close our eyes and shield them - even then, the light nearly blinds me. When it’s all said and done, though, we’re able to look out the portholes again and see the gate behind us now. The weather outside has changed as well - we were passing through sunny skies before, but now we’re surrounded by fluffy white clouds.

Coulson’s phone rings, and he consults the screen. “I have to take this,” he says. “So you kids probably won’t see me again until we land in New York, and…” He takes the call before his phone can stop ringing. “What’ve you got for me, Hunter? No, we just came back through the gate…” His voice trails off as he leaves us, heading up towards the cockpit.

Coming from the other end of the hallway is Baymax, squeezing his inflated bulk through the double doors.  _“_ _I heard someone crying_ _,_ ” he says. “ _Is everyone all right?_ ”

Tadashi comes up behind Baymax. “This isn’t a random self-activating thing,” he says. “He really did hear someone crying. He’s got better ears than most humans.”

Skye looks from Gwen to Baymax. “I dunno about you, but I think Gwen could do with a hug, big guy.”

Baymax turns to Gwen and inclines his head slightly. “ _Scan complete_ ,” he says. “ _You are showing signs of emotional distress. I believe Skye is right. You do need a hug, don’t you?_ ” He walks up to Gwen on his stubby little legs, then wraps one arm around her while using his free hand to pat her head.  _“_ _Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. There, there._ ”

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s gotta be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s what he’d say to me if he ever came up to me when I was feelin’ down,” Hiro says.

“You, feelin’ down?” Stark asks. “I don’t think that’s even possible.”

“You’d be surprised,” Skye says.

“ _It’s true,_ ” says Baymax. “ _As a pubescent young man, Hiro can be quite prone to mood swings from time to time._ ” I walk up and join Baymax and Gwen in their hug. “ _Group therapy,_ ” he says. “ _That’s a very good idea. Would anyone else like to join in?_ ”

I look at the others. Barton shrugs, then comes around to Gwen’s other side. Seconds later, Stark follows him. Hiro and Skye join in as well.

“Someone feeling cold again?” Honey asks, walking up behind Tadashi. “Oh, wait, no. He doesn’t even have his heater on.”

“ _That reminds me, does anyone want the heater?_ ” Baymax asks.

“No thanks,” Gwen says. “I think we’re good.”

“ _Does that mean you are satisfied with your care?_ ” Baymax asks.

Gwen looks up at me, then at Hiro. “Should I say yes?”

“ _I cannot deactivate until you are satisfied with your care,_ ” Baymax says.

Gwen sighs, then moves out of the group hug. “Okay,” she says.

Baymax just stands there, blinking slowly. “It’s like  _Millionaire_  with the ‘final answer’ thing,” Tadashi says. “You have to say the exact words to get him to deactivate.”

Gwen nods. “Okay. I’m satisfied with my care.”

The red box zips out from behind Tadashi and Honey. Baymax gives a wave, then he steps into the box, which closes up on him. The box then leaves the hallway and passes through the double doors after Tadashi holds them open.

“Yeah, well…” Wasabi scratches the back of his neck, almost dropping his popcorn as he does so. “Who’s hungry?"


	6. Oh, Heartbeat City, Here We Come

*****PETER*****

Hiro and Wasabi lead the rest of us back into the media room, where  _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_  is still paused on the scene where I’m standing over a grave. Gwen’s grave, I realize with a sickening jolt. Thankfully, Hiro goes over to the DVD player quickly and switches that disc for something a little sweeter and fluffier - another favorite of mine,  _The Nightmare Before Christmas._

Unfortunately, I don’t really have it in me to concentrate on the movie. Because while everyone else is sitting together and talking animatedly about what Coulson might have in mind for us to do in New York, I see Gwen sitting apart from the others, rocking slightly in her seat.

I guess she wasn’t quite satisfied with Baymax’s care after all. Maybe I can help her feel better? Then again, there’s not much else I can give her besides hugs and sweet words.

I sit next to Gwen, watching her continue to rock back and forth for a few seconds before she notices me. “Hey, Peter,” she says. “What’s up?”

I shrug, sparing a second to glance over at the others assembled halfway across the room. “Just countin’ the seconds till they start bombarding us with questions.” I take her hand and rub her knuckles with my thumb - a memory of me doing that before has just surfaced in my brain.

“Speaking of questions, I got one for you,” Gwen says. “Do you remember our first kiss?”

“You remember it too?”

Gwen manages to smile for a split second. “I remember you were tryin’ to tell me you were Spider-Man, and you couldn’t get the words out, so you just showed me your webline. I think you hit me with it right on my back, then you spun me around and, well…”

I laugh lightly. “Are you just remembering that scene from the movie, or are you remembering it for real?”

“I...I…” Gwen pauses. “I dunno. The only thing I remember for real, I think, is me dying. Oh, and that time you came to my room all banged up and I was cleaning your wounds.”

“Haha, of course you would remember that one,” I say. At that time, I’d been shirtless. And naturally, we started making out right there in Gwen’s room.

“Damn right, bug boy.” Gwen lays her head on my shoulder. “That’s what I called you, right?”

“That’s how we know it’s a real memory, I bet,” I say. “Nobody remembers movie lines like that.”

“I dunno,” Gwen says. “I’ve sometimes overheard you and Clint talkin’ movies, and you can quote ‘em a mile a minute.”

“I usually get ‘em wrong, though.” I try to concentrate on my memory of the shirtless make-out. It had been after a fight with the Lizard, and I’d had some pretty nasty wounds on my chest. How I didn’t get infected with some kind of lethal reptilian disease, I have no idea.

I want to think about where exactly Gwen and I had been at the time. Did I ever look out the window and see the New York skyline, like the movie shows? Or was it in San Castiel? Either way, I don’t exactly remember getting a glimpse of the outside world. Mostly because my mind was entirely in that one room at the time. It was a safe space.

The memories of sharing passionate kisses with Gwen when we were already in a pretty suggestive position also get me thinking of something else - did we, by any chance, turn in our V-cards? It didn’t have to necessarily be that night - but as the memory progresses, it moves on to me putting my Spider-Man suit back on (and while that suit is really cool-looking, it’s also got a tendency to bind in certain sensitive places) and carrying Gwen with me as I swing over the city on my weblines.

At that point, the memory ends, so I have no idea how intimate we got that night. Or any other night - the most I can remember is kissing her. On the mouth, of course.

I decide to put that thought aside, though. It doesn’t seem quite as important, given the real issues we’re facing right now.

I look again at the others and briefly catch Stark’s eye. He then gets up and walks over to us, sitting behind Gwen. “Hey, guys,” he says. “Not gonna hang out with the rest of us?”

Gwen shakes her head. “Nope. I don’t really feel like hanging out right now.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Stark’s about to leave his seat, but then he stops and asks, “Gwen, I...well, I hope you don’t mind me askin’ this, but...what’s it like? Dying, I mean.”

I glare at him. “Insensitive much?”

“No, it’s okay,” Gwen says, turning so she can look at Stark properly. “Well, it didn’t hurt - maybe for a really tiny fraction of a second, but not long enough for me to really process it. But the really scary part was the emptiness. It was like, boom, now I was in a big black void. Like dreamless sleep. I couldn’t really feel or hear or see anything.”

“What about coming back to life?” Stark asks.

“I don’t remember that,” Gwen says. “I bet it would be even worse, though. Because if you think about it, dead things usually wanna stay dead.”

“Unless they’re you, of course,” Stark says.

“And Coulson,” chimes in Simmons, who’s just now approaching us. As soon as the words are out, though, she claps her hands over her mouth, muttering a few swear words under her breath. “Oh my God, did I just say that out loud? Um, forget I said that, please?”

Stark’s eyes nearly close as he puts on a devilish grin. “Your boss used to be dead? Whoa, baby. This I gotta hear.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it, though,” Skye says. “And after hearin’ what they put him through, I can see why.” She turns to Gwen. “I just hope that whatever they did to bring you back to life wasn’t anywhere near as bad.”

“If I know the way every story like that goes,” Stark says, “it probably will be. Sorry, Gwen, but good guys don’t get a break.”

“Okay, I’m sorry I called you ‘insensitive’ before,” I say. “I think I meant something a little more along the lines of, I dunno, ‘cynical?’”

“I would’ve gone for ‘brutally honest’ myself,” Stark says with a proud smile, “but that works too.”

“Good to know.”

I find the nearest porthole and look outside. The plane is descending, and I can see the East Coast approaching. We’re heading right for New York. It’s maybe forty or fifty miles ahead of us. I can almost pick out the shapes of the more recognizable skyscrapers. One World Trade Center, the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings, and even two that I’ve only seen in superhero movies. Bryan Tower, with its distinctive “A” logo for the Avengers, and Sandcorp Tower - or, as the movie-based memories are telling me, Oscorp Tower - in all its glossy, futuristic 108-story glory. (So if Stark is supposed to be Iron Man, does that mean Bryan Tower is called Stark Tower in this world?)

Skye seems to confirm the answer to my question when she says, “The Stark Tower light is white. Good. That means we can land.”

“You can see that from here?” I ask, peering again through the porthole. I wish I had my glasses with me. Sure, contacts are a little more aesthetically pleasing, or so society says, but they don’t really improve my vision nearly as much as glasses do.

“You know what else?” I ask, turning back to Skye. “How did we get to New York so fast? Did that warp gate move us across the country or something?”

“No,” Skye says. “It’s in the same exact place in both universes. We can thank good old Alistair Krei for that.” She sticks her tongue out. Hiro, who’s standing behind Skye, rolls his eyes along with her.

“I’m guessing this Alistair Krei dude isn’t the best guy around.”

“You guess right,” Hiro says. “Guy once tried to steal a science experiment of mine right from under my nose. Luckily, Tadashi’s professor caught him and made him give up the stuff.” He laughs, ruffling his own already-messy hair. “Oh, and also, this plane is just barely subsonic. It’s, like, Mach 0.998 or something.”

In the background, the movie ends, and Hiro takes the DVD out and puts it away in a hidden cabinet under the floor. Skye, meanwhile, takes me and Gwen aside so she can run the latest plan by us. “We’re gonna start by takin’ you guys to your old homes,” she says. “We’ll split up, take you separately so we can get it done a little faster. Peter, Fitz-Simmons and Hiro will take you to your place. After you’re done lookin’ there, you can come meet me and Clint at Gwen’s place.” She pauses, then looks around the room. “Oh, and Tadashi’s going with Gwen and me, too,” she adds. “And Tony can go with you, Peter.”

“What exactly are we supposed to be looking for?” Gwen asks.

“I’ll explain to you on the way,” Skye says. “Peter, you’re gonna want to find your dad’s glasses. If our research is correct, they’re gonna unlock a crucial memory of yours.”

Fifteen minutes later, the plane lands at LaGuardia Airport, and immediately heads for a private hangar like the one where the plane was parked at SFO. Skye gets into one of the black SUVs with Barton, Gwen, and Tadashi, while I’m joined by Hiro and Stark in the other. Simmons is driving, and in the front passenger seat sits a guy with curly hair who talks in a strong Scottish accent. He introduces himself as Leo Fitz, and says he’s the team’s engineer. “Although,” he adds, with a meaningful glance at Hiro, “I’m nowhere near as talented as this young lad. Or that one.” He jerks his thumb at Stark. “Not to mention you, Peter. After all, you made that Spider-Man suit on your own, didn’t ya? Oh, who are we kidding - of course you did.”

“Yes, yes, Fitz, we know you’re surrounded by equally awesome people with which you can bond,” Simmons says. “But we can gush later.”

“Yeah...yeah, I try,” I say, nodding at Fitz.

“I guess SHIELD Academy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” Fitz asks with a sheepish grin. “I mean, none of you guys ever went there, and yet, here you are.”

Stark turns away from the window - the whole time we’ve been driving, he’s been looking towards the Manhattan skyline as it rises up to meet the clouds. Specifically, at the profile of Stark Tower - I can see the white Avengers symbol glowing near its top now. “You guys are sayin’ I’m the Avengers’ leader?” he asks.

“You are. Or were, before you got de-aged and sent through the portal,” Simmons says.

Stark looks awestruck. “You’ve gotta be kidding. That’s so awesome! So when do I get to watch my movie and get my memories back, huh?”

“Maybe later,” Fitz says. “It would help if your mind was sufficiently prepared. Brains are delicate instruments to screw around with. I should know. I still haven’t quite recovered from my...from my…” He snaps his fingers, grasping for the right word.

“Near-drowning?” Simmons says, turning the car past a sign for Midtown Science High School - just like in the movies.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Fitz says. “Thanks.”

It’s not long before we head down a familiar street lined with houses. Simmons stops in front of one of them, then checks the address against something written on her phone screen. “Here we are,” she says. “This is where you used to live, Peter.”

I get out of the car and walk up to the front door, recognizing the large pane of glass in the door with the number “36” painted on it. Another memory surfaces here - of me having a fight with my Uncle Ben and Aunt May, and then of me running out the door and slamming it with enough force to smash the glass. I guess I must have already gotten my Spider-Man powers by then.

And, based on how the first  _Amazing Spider-Man_  movie went, not long after that, Uncle Ben went out to find me, got into a fight with a thief, and was accidentally shot. Like Gwen, he ended up dying in my arms.

There’s another person I know who’s alive and well in the life I had before today, but I remember their death anyway.

“Peter?” Simmons walks up behind me. “Are you all right?”

I shake my head - not to say no, but to loosen the nuts and bolts in my brain. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you getting another memory?” she asks.

“I said I’m fine.”

“I’d listen to the man,” Stark says. “Now how the hell do we get in here? Petey, you remember where the spare key is?” He starts checking under the rocks grouped around the bottom of the porch steps - one of those typical spare-key hiding places.

I grind my teeth a bit, but decide there’s no point telling Stark to stop nicknaming me. “No, but by all means, keep makin’ a mess of the landscaping.”

“Relax, dude,” Hiro says, pushing past Fitz and Simmons. “I’m on it.” He puts on a headband and takes a small black box out of his pocket. When Hiro opens the box, it turns out it’s actually clear, and it’s the contents of the box that are black. They rise out of the box in a small cloud of what can only be flying microbots.

Hiro taps his headband, and the microbot cloud reshapes itself so it now looks like a key.

Fitz and Simmons have clearly seen this before, because they don’t look as impressed as Stark and I do.

The key-shaped cloud floats up to the door. It takes a few tries, but eventually, it enters the lock and turns it, opening the door. I walk into the house and immediately start climbing the stairs, guided by either instinct or another buried memory until I reach what has to be my old room. It’s got a computer on the desk like the one I have at home in San Castiel, the bedspread is almost the same. And hell, as I look on the bulletin board behind the computer, I see a photo tacked into place of me with Gwen’s head resting on my chest.

So does that mean the Spider-Man suit is hiding around here somewhere?

With Stark’s help, I look around the room, searching every nook and cranny. There’s no sign of the Spider-Man suit, but Stark does find a box full of unused webshooters. He calls up Fitz and Simmons, who take the box down to the car.

Not long after that, I find the thing I was sent in here to find - my dad’s glasses. They’re exactly how I remember them - black, spidery-looking frames (haha, “spidery”) that seem to be a little more flexible than most glasses. They’re hiding in a leather briefcase just like in the movie.

Having found the glasses, I detour over to the bathroom and find a contact-lens case sitting on the sink. It’s even filled with solution. For the first time, I wonder how long it’s been since I was supposedly taken away from this world. It can’t have been that long, can it? Especially since the house, while empty, doesn’t look abandoned. There’s still power, and there are no heavy layers of dust all over everything.

Nevertheless, I carefully remove my contacts. Behind me, I hear Stark groan in disgust. “Ugh. I hated havin’ to wear those things. Thank God for laser eye surgery, am I right?”

“You used to wear contacts?” I look at Stark - he’s not much more than a blur in my myopic vision.

“I sorta remember it from freshman year or so,” Stark says. “‘Course, now I know that I’m rememberin’ shit that never happened.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

I put the glasses on, blinking a few times until I get used to seeing things clearly again. These were my dad’s? They work very well for my eyes. And hey, they don’t look half-bad on me either.

Then the memory comes in, one of the clearest ones yet. I’m in Oscorp tower, looking at Gwen - who’s wearing a lab coat because she’s an intern there under Dr. Curt Connors, aka the Lizard. And right there, I feel a quick, sharp pain on the back of my neck. Like I just got injected with something.

Or like something bit me.

My hand automatically flies to that spot, and I feel something writhing under my fingers. It’s a spider, and a pretty big one, too.

“Ugh,” Stark groans again. “Dude, are you seein’ yourself right now? I mean...holy shit, man, that’s not right.”

I blink, and I’m brought back to the here and now. Stark flicks the light on so I can see better the thing he’s talking about. There’s a thin line of spider silk trailing from my finger right to that spot on the back of my neck.

“Oh my God,” I breathe.

Stark leans back down the hall and calls, “Hey, guys, come on up and see this.”

“What? No, no, no, Stark-”

A shiver passes up my spine as I feel tiny vibrations in the floor under my feet. At least one of the others is headed this way. The pop-culture catchphrase isn’t kidding - my Spidey-senses really are tingling.

I feel Hiro’s foot land loudly on the floor right behind Stark an infinitesimal fraction of a second before it happens. And I react by jumping about a mile into the air and getting my hands stuck to a flat surface. Not the wall this time, though - instead, it’s the ceiling.

I look down at Stark and Hiro - my head is hanging upside down, so I can’t help but chuckle at seeing them from such a weird angle. Both of them have their mouths wide open, but then Stark shuts his and starts talking. “I...yeah, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.  _Show. Off._ ”

“Dude, don’t act like you’re not impressed.” I make the mistake of pulling one hand off the ceiling and making gestures while I talk. (I’ve always suspected I was at least part Italian because of that particular bad habit of mine.) Unfortunately, with only one hand to support myself, I can’t stay crouched on the ceiling any longer, so I end up hanging awkwardly by my sticky fingertips.

At least I stick the landing when I dismount a second later. And when my dad’s glasses fall off at the same time, I manage to catch them by hooking one finger around the frames.

“So now you know how to use your Spidey-senses, huh?” Hiro asks.

“I guess so, yeah.” I pocket the glasses and put my contacts back on. As I’m about to leave the bathroom, though, I stop just short of running into Simmons.

“Did you remember anything?” she asks.

“I remember the spider bite,” I say.

Simmons claps her hands excitedly. “Perfect! Our theory was correct, Fitz!”

“You mean the artifact theory?” Fitz asks.

“Yes, of course!” Simmons says. “Come on, we have to go meet the others. They should still be at Gwen’s apartment.”


	7. Uptown Funk You Up

*****GWEN*****

Upon reaching the apartment where I apparently lived before - the doorman recognizes me, and asks me where I’ve been - the first thing I want to do is make cocoa. I can’t really explain it - it’s just a very powerful urge.

“Maybe you should look in your room or something?” Tadashi asks. “It’s all right, Gwen. I’ll keep an eye on the kettle for you.”

“It’s never gonna boil if you do that, you know,” Clint chuckles.

I sigh heavily, then move on down the hall. I can’t even remember which of the closed doors leads to my room, other than the fact that my room is somewhere on the left-hand side.

“Any particular reason why you wanna make cocoa?” Skye asks as she follows me down the hall.

I try one door, but reject that room because the decorations are so obviously those of my brother Howard. So many video game posters - and they’re exactly the same ones he has in San Castiel, eerily enough.

“Maybe you’ve got an alien parasite that thrives on cocoa?” Skye asks. She slaps the back of my head, hard.

“Ouch!”

“Dammit, it’s not the tick.” Skye laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, but I’ve been waitin’ for a long time to do that reference.”

“You do movie references too?” I groan. “No wonder you’re so attracted to Peter. Birds of a feather flock together.”

“I’m not attracted to Peter,” Skye says. “That’s just a character. Although I do like him and all the amazing Spider-Man stuff he’s done.” She chuckles at her own joke, spoiling another otherwise casual reference. “Believe me, you don’t gotta worry about me tryin’ to horn in on your territory.”

“Peter’s not my ‘territory,’” I say. “I don’t own him.” I try another door - this one ends up being a linen closet. The third door finally leads me to my room. Just like Howard’s room, mine is nearly identical in appearance to the one I know on the West Coast. The layout is different, of course, but just about every detail is something I have in my room in San Castiel.

“Of course not,” Skye says, hanging out in the doorway. She lapses into awkward silence for a few seconds before finally asking, “So, are you remembering anything?”

“No,” I say. “And you’re not helping me concentrate here.”

“Oh, sorry.” Skye twiddles her thumbs as she leans against the doorjamb. “Should I leave? I’m, uh, kinda supposed to keep an eye on you. In case you get any memories back with, uh, catastrophic effects.”

I glower at Skye. “If the sheer force of my recovered memories gives me a brain aneurysm, I’ll be sure to scream for help.”

“Oh, trust me, if you’re gonna get a brain aneurysm, you want someone close by to help you out,” Skye says. “Like, within touching distance.”

I turn away from Skye and look out the window for a few seconds, familiarizing myself with the skyline view. “You’ll probably be better off stayin’ out of my personal space.”

“By that, do you mean your own private bubble, or this whole room?” Skye asks, spreading her arms.

I sit in a blue armchair by the window, my head in my hands. I think about something I saw on the drive from the airport - a piece of graffiti on the side of the road bearing the familiar Spider-Man logo. They had that in the movies, and I guess in this alternate world where Spider-Man was real, they had it too.

But it wasn’t the Spider-Man symbol that I really noticed. It was what was next to the symbol - a simple, if grammatically messed-up, sentence written in blue spray paint. It said, “COME BACK SPIDEY WE NEED YOU.”

Sure, everything outside the window looks normal. It doesn’t seem as if Spidey’s absence has caused the city to devolve into a war zone or anything. But that’s just what I’m seeing on the surface. Spider-Man has always been known for not only taking on Big Bad supervillains and reprehensible criminals, but also for smaller issues. Literal kid stuff.

For instance, one of my favorite scenes in  _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_  (one which, unfortunately, Coulson did not show us today) has Spidey stopping to save a little kid and his wind-turbine science project from the bully boys who want nothing more than to break them both. Not only does he scare away the bullies, but he also uses his webline to do some emergency rapid repair for the turbine, and then, for maximum heartwarming factor, he walks the kid home.

(Obviously, I’m not remembering this like I was there - because if the alternate version of the movie is the actual record of events, I wasn’t.)

If Peter really belongs in this world as Spider-Man, I really hope he can return to it soon enough. Being a superhero must have been a big part of his life. I can’t imagine he wouldn’t return to that, knowing the good he does in the world.

I look up and see Skye still standing in the doorway. “Seriously, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave,” she says.

“No, that’s okay,” I say. “Um, so Peter and the others are supposed to meet us here later, right?”

“Yeah, so we can just do a quick hop over to Stark Tower from here,” Skye says. “That’s our next stop, in case you didn’t know.”

“Okay.” Since Peter’s house is supposed to be in Queens, I’m guessing he’ll probably pass by the same graffiti I saw along the way. Hopefully, he’ll see it and get the message too.

I sit in the chair a little bit longer. When I’d been talking with Peter earlier on the plane, I told him I remembered a time when he came into my room at night, all cut up from a fight. He’d made a joke about “of course you’d remember that,” probably alluding to the fact that at the time, he was half-naked.

Another memory connected to that one is starting to surface. This event took place before I’d started tending to Peter’s Lizard-induced slashes - at least, so I think, based on the fact that he was fully dressed at the time. I remember Peter making a “you should see the other guy” joke, then my dad calling down the hall, asking me if I wanted cocoa.

“Oh,” I whisper to myself. “That explains it.”

“What explains what?” Skye asks. She tilts her head and looks down the hall. “Sounds like the cocoa’s ready. You wanna come and get it?”

I rise from the chair, stretch my arms, then follow Skye. “That’s why I wanted cocoa,” I say. “Because my dad was offering me some.”

“In a memory?” Skye asks.

“Yeah.” I reach the kitchen, where Tadashi is pouring mugs of cocoa for everyone. “But I didn’t get a complete picture.”

“Maybe if you went back there, you’ll get more?” Clint asks. “Could be important.”

“Could be,” I agree, taking my cocoa back to my room. As I do so, I think about the strangeness of the situation. I’ve never been one to take food or drinks into my room - in my family, that’s not even allowed.

I drink the cocoa, allowing more of the memory to filter into my brain. After Dad called me, Peter went and hid behind the very same chair in which I’m currently sitting. Meanwhile, I stuck my head out the door and told him to go away (okay, I didn’t actually say that, but it amounted to the same thing.) He reminded me of my fantasy about living in a chocolate house, to which I responded that it would be impractical. And fattening. Then I turned around and saw Peter’s head sticking out from behind the chair, and he was trying not to laugh at the whole “chocolate house” thing.

I even remember going back to Dad and passing my whole outburst off on a nonexistent period. I can’t believe I didn’t start laughing my head off at how uncomfortable he was, especially since I was lying my ass off to cover for Peter’s presence behind my closed door.

I don’t really know how long I spend lost in that memory. It must be a good long while, though, because the next thing I know, I’m hearing Tony’s and Hiro’s voices coming into the apartment, talking to Skye and Tadashi.

And then I hear a clunking noise outside my window. I turn around to see Peter crouched on the fire escape, a silly grin on his face.

“Did you really just climb twenty stories?” I ask as I open the window.

Peter’s grin expands, as if to say, “Stupid question.” “Yeah,” he says. “Stark thinks I’m just bein’ a show-off.”

“I think he might be right,” I laugh as Peter climbs through the window and dusts himself off. “So, did you get anything?”

“Got some of these,” Peter says, showing me the inside of his wrist. He’s attached a small metal disk to the cuff of his shirtsleeve, and is keeping it hidden under the sleeve of his hoodie.

“What are they?”

“Webshooters,” Peter says. “I tried ‘em out before leavin’ my house. I made a bit of a mess, but nothing I couldn’t clean up.” He sniffs the air. “Is that hot chocolate?”

“It helped me unlock a memory,” I say. “Remember when my dad was teasing me about the chocolate house thing?”

“Is that really your fantasy?” Peter asks. “‘Cause if so, when can I join you there?”

I laugh out loud - something I try not to do all that often, because it sounds really fake and obnoxious. Unfortunately, I’m naturally a terrible laugher.

“I got an idea,” Peter says, pulling his jacket sleeve back over his webshooter again. “I think I can unlock another memory of yours. Hell, I’d be surprised if it’s not already unlocked, you know what I mean?”

I’m a bit unnerved by the gleam in his eye, but I go along with his plan anyway. Peter leads me out of my room and onto the balcony just outside the apartment’s back door.

“So, uh, what are we doin’ out here?” I ask, glancing back at the door in case anyone’s followed us. I’m sure Skye and/or Tadashi will be coming through that door any moment.

“I think it’s better if I show you,” Peter says, standing about five feet to my right. “Turn around.”

“Why?” I ask, my suspicions raised.

“I promise, it’s nothing nasty,” Peter says.

I give him a sideways smile, then turn around. A second later, something small and sticky hits me in the small of my back, then I’m pulled towards Peter. In a lightning-fast movement, he’s got me in his arms.

Even before Peter points it out, I remember exactly what he’s emulating. Our first kiss - which was also the moment where he confessed to me that he was Spider-Man. Not in words - he just couldn’t spit it out - but with the webline to my back.

When he repeats that kiss as well, it feels like I’m experiencing it twice in the same moment. Although the first time, we both had fish breath - I’m also remembering that I’d invited him over for dinner, and Mom had made branzino. This time, I have cocoa breath, which I’m sure Peter enjoys a lot more.

Peter breaks off the kiss a little sooner than I would have liked, but he makes up for it by gazing into my eyes. “I love you,” he says. “So much.”

I blink back tears as I see his own eyes starting to water. “Me too.”

Sadly, this is when our sweet moment is shattered by someone’s cell phone ringing loudly behind the door. Peter and I stomp over there and find Tadashi fumbling with his phone’s screen while Tony tries not to laugh at his clumsiness.

“Is that ‘Uptown Funk?’” Peter asks, pointing to Tadashi’s phone. “In Japanese?”

Tadashi nods. “Yep. A friend of mine karaoked it, and sent the recording out to everyone she knew. I liked it so much I decided to use it as my ringtone.” He finally answers his phone, but then hangs up a couple seconds later.

“Missed call?” I ask.

“No, it wasn’t a call,” Tadashi says. “It’s just time for us to head to Stark Tower now.”

Tony nods approvingly. “Finally. Now I can get the Iron Man suit on. If it fits me, of course. I think my body’s still got some filling out to do before I finally become a man.” He snickers under his breath. “Hey, could you play that song again, dude? I wanted to see if I could understand it.”

Tadashi’s face brightens. “Oh.  _Anata ga nihongo o hanasu?_ ”

Peter and I exchange confused glances while Tony responds in Japanese: “ _Hai. Jakkan._ ”

“ _Dono kurai anata wa sore o benkyō shite iru?_ ” Tadashi asks.

Tony then breaks into a fit of embarrassed laughter. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you just said. Then again, I’ve only been takin’ Japanese for a couple months now.”

“Then you just answered my question,” Tadashi says. “I asked how long you’ve been studying it.” He smacks his forehead. “So you’ve been in that class for a couple months already and you don’t even know that phrase? Unbelievable.”

“Hey, you were talkin’ way too fast there,” Tony says. “I didn’t even know that’s what you said till after you pointed it out.”

He looks at Peter, who holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “I don’t speak a word of Japanese.”

“I know,” Tony says. “But what foreign language do you take? Didn’t it seem hella fast at first for you too?”

“Of course it did,” Peter says. “It’s French. French always sounds hella fast.”

Tadashi frowns as he leads us back to the apartment. “Are you guys sure you’re not from San Fransokyo? ‘Cause the way you say ‘hella’ all the time...I doubt you’d have said it before you were taken from here.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asks. “I’ve always said that.”

“He does have a point,” I say. “I’ve always heard it was strictly a San Fransokyo thing. Or, I guess in this universe, we’d say-”

“San Francisco,” Tadashi says. “That was the original name of our city too, but in our world - not this one - the Japanese helped rebuild it after the 1906 earthquake, so they renamed it to reflect the Japanese aesthetic the new city had.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard that story before,” says Peter. “In whatever fake memory implants of fourth-grade California history class we’ve all been given.”

I nod along with Peter. “Yeah, except I’m starting to lose my memory of that. I don’t remember any fourth-grade California history class.”

“Maybe that’s your memory implants losing the fight with the real memories?” Tony suggests.

Tadashi nods thoughtfully, then opens the door and takes us back into the apartment. “Good theory, Tony. All right, everyone,” he says to the room at large, clapping his hands for attention. “Are we ready to go to Stark Tower?”

A rousing chorus of “Yes!” rings through the room. Tadashi and I spare a minute to wash out every mug that was used for cocoa, then we all head out. Peter insists on taking the fire escape - not to show off this time, but because he didn’t want to arouse the doorman’s suspicions by having one more person leave the building than there had been coming in.

It’s not long until we get to Stark Tower and park in the underground garage at the base of the building. Skye is able to flash her SHIELD badge at the entrance, and that’s clearly good enough for our entire party. The second SUV doesn’t even get stopped.

“Hey,” Tony says as we wait for the elevator to arrive. “Am I the only one who noticed the light on the tower change?”

“It changed?” Skye asks. Her eyes dart over to the garage entrance, as if deciding whether or not she should make the run over there just to look outside.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “It went red. That’s a bad sign, I take it? A red alert or something?”

“It means we’re gonna want you in the Iron Man suit ASAP,” Skye says.

“Tell me I’m at least gonna get some kind of training first,” Tony says, even though we all know what the answer will be.

Skye shakes her head. “Muscle memory, dude.”

Peter pulls a webshooter out of his jacket pocket, then puts it back. I can hear a faint clinking, suggesting that he’s got a pile of them where that came from. “Whatever’s gonna come after us,” he says, “I’ll be ready. I think.”

“Don’t think, just feel,” says Hiro, putting on a headband. He’d explained about his neural-cranial transmitter and microbots on the drive from the apartment.

“Now I’m startin’ to feel useless,” I groan. “I don’t have any cool weapons.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Simmons says. “We almost forgot. Fitz, the Night-Night Gun?”

“I thought we weren’t usin’ that name anymore,” says Fitz as he hands me one of the modified pistols.

“I like it,” I say, tucking the gun in the waistband of my skirt. Now I’m starting to feel like a badass. “It’s a ridiculously cute nickname for an efficient weapon.”

Simmons nods approvingly. “There’s something to be said for dichotomy, is there not?”

The elevator opens, and I join Skye, Tony, Peter, and Hiro. Skye hits the top-floor button, but it does nothing to make the elevator move. “Oh, right, I forgot,” she says. “It needs your thumbprint, Mr. Stark.”

Tony presses his thumb to the button, and the elevator responds by going up. “ _Welcome back, Mr. Stark_ _,_ ” says a smooth, English-accented male voice. “ _May I ask what beauty regimen you’ve taken up? You look twenty years younger, sir._ ”

Tony looks around at all of us, but doesn’t respond to the electronic voice’s question. This leads to a long and awkward silence, even throughout the relatively short elevator ride.

But then, as soon as we arrive at the top floor, we’re greeted by the biggest surprise so far today. A tall man in a red-and-blue outfit - not unlike that of Spider-Man, but with eyeholes instead of mirrored lenses - is waiting, a big automatic-looking gun pointed right in our faces.

“Deadpool?” Skye asks incredulously. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you think? Startin’ the ball rollin’ on the next level of this silly story plot,” Deadpool laughs. We’ve been told he was insane, but his laughter doesn’t sound as maniacal as your usual garden-variety Renfield-type. “Step into my office - oh, wait. No, it’s  _your_  office,” he says, casually poking his gun into Tony’s face. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Skye levels her Night-Night Gun in Deadpool’s face. “Give me one good reason not to ice your ass right here.”

“The writer won’t let you,” Deadpool says, pointing somewhere vaguely overhead. “Sure, that skinny-ass geek’s got a crush on you, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let you do whatever the hell you want.”

“I’m serious,” Skye says, cocking the gun. “Why are you here? No more games.”

Deadpool lets his eyes rove over Skye’s body - and mine as well. “Yo, perv,” I say, snapping my fingers in his face. “Eyes up here if you wanna talk to me.”

“Right,” Deadpool drawls. “Lemme see if I got all your names right. Skye, I remember you. Gwen Stacy, of course. You’re a real pretty one.”

I don’t know which disturbs me more - the fact that this cuckoo knows my name, or the fact that he’s continuing to check me out. “You do realize I’m only seventeen, right?”

“Yeah, so what? I was seventeen once too.” Deadpool looks at Peter. “Peter Parker. You know, I was told you were a total nerd. I guess the definition of ‘nerd’ changed sometime in the last twelve years. Seriously, any girl you wanted, you could get into her pants.” Peter gapes at him, clearly shocked by his frankness. “Or guy, if that’s how you roll. Not that I’m gonna judge.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn. “So you’re the famous Iron Man,” Deadpool says. “Or are you? I mean, I know the writer says you are, but you’re not even a man yet. Hell, has anyone ever told you, you look exactly like that kid from  _The Internship?_  Great movie. Great, great movie. Very hilarious.”

And finally, he reaches Hiro. “And you. A prodigious young man, a genius in the robotics field. But you’ve got a tragic backstory of your own. One that, like everyone else in the room - excluding your not-really-sister, of course” - he nods at Skye - “you’ve managed to forget.”

Outside, sirens start to wail. “And that’s my cue,” Deadpool says. “The Dark Elves are coming, and I gotta keep you guys safe. So you should probably get behind me. Oh, and Stark? You can send me the repair bill, but don’t expect me to pay it.”

Deadpool goes outside onto the balcony, then leans over the edge of the building and starts shooting at something below.

“Guys?” Stark says. “Is this what we’re here for?”

I turn to see what he’s talking about. Standing in a niche behind a big office desk - with Tony’s name engraved on the nameplate - is the distinctive red-and-gold Iron Man suit.

Not only that, but to its right is a stars-and-stripes-colored suit and disk-shaped metal shield - Captain America’s uniform. And between these is the distinctive red-and-blue spandex Spidey-suit.


	8. Danger Signs Flashing In My Brain

*****GWEN*****

“Um...okay,” Tony says, poking the Iron Man suit. “Are you sayin’ I’m supposed to put this thing on? Like, right here, right now?”

Deadpool pauses in the process of firing his gun on the Dark Elves - or whatever he’s really shooting at. We can’t see what he claims to see, because none of us are anywhere near the balcony. “You gotta do it, dude,” he calls out. “The writer says so.”

“What writer?” I ask.

“You’re really gonna humor him?” Skye whispers.

“Why not?” I say. “It’ll give me something to do other than watch Tony struggle with that robo-suit.”

Sure enough, Tony’s already started trying to put the suit on, and he really has no idea what he’s doing. “I think this was designed for a smaller guy,” he grumbles, trying to stuff his arm into one of the suit’s arms.

“I don’t think so,” Skye says. “You could say the same for the Spider-Man suit here. I mean, look at it. Who here thinks Peter could actually fit in that thing?”

“Excuse me? You tryin’ to call me fat, Skye?” Peter crosses his arms.

“No, ‘cause that would be absurd,” Skye says. “Nothing could be further from…”

I tune out her voice as I approach Deadpool, against my better judgment. Call me crazy, but I think the crazy guy seems to know the most about what’s going on here.

“Oh, now you wanna see the Dark Elves for yourself?” Deadpool asks. “Come here. Just lean over the edge and you’ll see ‘em. They’re pretty good climbers, the little buggers.” He takes another shot, and I can hear a pig-like squeal of pain as the bullet reaches its target.

I look down the side of the building and see no less than half a dozen Dark Elves, just as ugly and nasty as the ones I saw in San Fransokyo, scaling the smooth glass walls. “Are your shots even doing anything?” I ask.

“Besides slowin’ ‘em down? Nah.” Deadpool shoots the nearest Elf, then steps back and switches out clips on his gun with casual slowness. “The writer says I’m just here to distract this scum before our boy Stark goes all medieval on their asses.”

“There you go with that ‘writer’ stuff again,” I say. I’m distracted for a moment by a loud clunk from the office - Tony’s successfully gotten both his arms into the Iron Man suit, and now he’s trying to work on doing the same with his legs. Unfortunately, now he can’t even lift his arms up. No surprise there - he’s a really skinny guy, all pale skin and fragile bones. I don’t want to say being a rich boy will do that to you, but there’s really no other quick and dirty explanation I can think of.

“Like you care about the writer,” Deadpool says, slotting a new clip into place at last. “You think I’m insane, so you don’t believe a word I say.” It’s not a question. “I’m what you’d call an unreliable narrator. Except I’m tellin’ the truth, so it’s basically up to you to decide whether or not you can trust me.”

“And I decide not to trust you.”

“Good call, baby.” Deadpool cocks his gun and returns to the edge of the balcony to start shooting again. “‘Cause I actually am insane, and in the immortal words of Loverboy, ‘lovin’ every minute of it.’” He pauses. "Yeah, it's Loverboy. I kept thinkin' it was Aerosmith, but the writer says it's really Loverboy."

“And that’s exactly why I’m not gonna trust you,” I say, glaring at him. “Because you’re still gonna flirt with me, knowin’ full well I’m underage and under-interested. That’s not just insane. That’s really, truly sick.”

“Then why are you still hangin’ around with me?” Deadpool asks. “‘Cause the writer wants you to, that’s why. He wants someone to interact with me so I’m not just lookin’ like a fool, shootin’ up Dark Elves for no apparent reason other than the fact that they’re Always Chaotic Evil. Huh - he just realized the initials of those words spell ‘ACE.’”

“You mean, you just realized that.” Behind us, a loud noise alerts me to Tony tripping on his own feet after getting them into the suit. The floor in that office must be specially reinforced with steel or something, otherwise he’d probably have fallen through several stories’ worth of drywall by now.

“No, the writer realized that,” Deadpool corrects me after taking another potshot. “Ah well. Haters gonna hate, potatoes gonna potate. And the reason why he’s puttin’ you with me...well, obviously Stark’s tryin’ on the suit for what seems like the first time. Skye is there to help him out with that, so she’s not available. I’d probably get along with Peter pretty well, but he’s got this feeling in the back of his mind that I’m not to be trusted. It’s probably ‘cause he vaguely remembers a time when he was Spider-Man, workin’ with me to take down Doc Ock, and I nearly let him die. Not my fault he was bein’ all kamikaze suicide-run, just rarin’ for that mechanical creep to do a little slicey-slice on his guts.”

I laugh out loud upon hearing this, thinking it must be a really bad joke. “Peter, getting suicidal? I don’t think so.”

“You’d be surprised,” Deadpool says. “Losin’ the only non-family member you’ve ever loved can do things to you. Not that I’m speakin’ from experience here - I’ve never been in love myself.”

“And...wait a minute. Wasn’t Doc Ock in some other Spider-Man movie? Not in the  _Amazing Spider-Man_  series.”

“He shows up in the  _Amazing Spider-Man_  ‘verse too,” Deadpool says, shooting another Elf right in the skull. This time, it’s so surprised that it actually loses its grip on the building and falls about two hundred feet before finally grabbing hold of a window it already broke on the way up. “That movie just hasn’t been released yet. The company that makes the movies, they’ve had a bit of trouble lately.  _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_  wasn’t the big hit at the box office everyone thought it would be - the writer’s especially pissed about that, ‘cause he’s one of those guys who, even though he sees flaws in the movie, thinks they only make the movie better. Hell, considering everyone clapped at the end when he saw it in theaters-”

“Get to the point,” I grumble.

“Hold your mother-huggin’ horses, honey. I haven’t even gotten to the part where the North Koreans hacked the studio all ‘cause of a dumb comedy about an assassination plot-”

“You’re bullshittin’ me here, aren’t you?” I ask, shaking my head. “North Korea, one of the most dirt-poor countries in the world, hack a major movie studio? That’s about as likely as Tony gettin’ into that Iron Man suit.”

“What about me and the Iron Man suit?” Tony asks, his voice amplified. I turn around to see him clunking up to me, fully sealed in the robo-suit.

Deadpool looks up from his shooting and blinks at me through his eyeholes. “You were saying?”

“You know I was bein’ sarcastic, right?”

“Of course you were,” Deadpool says. “You knew he’d get into the suit. Of course,” he laughs, “whether or not he can use it properly is another story. I mean, there’s only so much muscle memory can do.”

“Don’t worry,” says Tony. Even the suit waves its hand lazily to emphasize his words. “I got this.” He spreads his arms, palms down, then fires off a two-second burst of energy, allowing the suit to hover in the air for exactly that long before it comes crashing down again. The suit, with Tony inside, falls flat on its ass, then rubs its head. “Ow.”

“Let’s try that again,” Skye says, clapping her hands. “Remember, Tony, there’s only…” She looks over the edge, with Deadpool kindly stepping out of her way and waiting until she’s gone before resuming his shooting. “Five Dark Elves climbin’ your tower.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, patting the suit on the shoulder. “No pressure.”

The suit tilts its head. I guess that’s the closest it can come to approximating an eye-roll. “I get the feeling none of you have any confidence in me,” Tony says. The suit’s mask retracts, revealing his face. It looks to me like he’s trying not to show any fear. But his eyes are looking a bit twitchy. He can’t stop glancing off to the side for split seconds at a time.

“Seriously,” Peter says, kneeling down to Tony’s level. “You can do this. I was able to figure out how to do my superhero thing. Why not you?”

“Your superhero thing is all parkour-type shit, though,” Tony says. “I’m not exactly equipped to do my own stunts here.”

“So?” I decide to contribute to Peter’s pep talk. “You’re gonna need to learn this again anyway. Come on, get up. Get up and show us all what you’re made of.”

“And if you start to fall,” Hiro says, putting on his neural-cranial transmitter, “I’ll send my microbots to pick you up again.”

Peter holds out his hand, as if to help Tony get up again, but he shakes his head. “I can do it myself, thanks.” He awkwardly leverages himself into a standing position, then teeters on the spot for a second before walking to the edge of the balcony. “Hey, wait a minute,” he says, glancing down at the circle of light shining on his chest. “If I’m really supposed to be Iron Man...then doesn’t that mean I’m supposed to have some kind of magnet inside me?”

Deadpool takes one last shot, then steps away from the edge and moves back inside. “It’s cleverly hidden, but it’s there,” he says. “A miniature arc-reactor that he who de-aged you put in you. Haven’t you wondered why you haven’t had an asthma attack in all your time in San Fransokyo?”

“How’d you know I have asthma?” Tony asks.

“Come on, kid. You’re a techno-geek. It’s a Sherlockian guess.” Deadpool and Tony stare at each other for a moment. “All right, I give. The writer told me. You wanna find out more, take it up with him whenever he gets into your head. Deadpool, out!” He turns around, flashes a reverse peace sign, then crosses through the office doors - thankfully, without another word.

Tony looks down at the Dark Elves again, then puts the mask back on. “Stand back, people,” he says. “This could get messy.” He spreads his arms and tips forward over the edge.

Peter, Hiro, Skye, and I run forward to watch Tony’s progress. His arms and legs flail around as he tries to get his bearings and figure out how to work the suit properly. Meanwhile, the Dark Elves continue to climb - they’re now less than twenty feet away from us.

Halfway to the ground, Tony finally fires off the jet repulsors in the suit’s hands and feet. He hovers in the air for a couple of seconds, then moves up and down, side to side, and diagonally in three dimensions. We can hear him laughing and swearing in his excitement as he whoops it up down there.

Then a pair of what look like miniature rocket launchers rise out of the suit’s shoulders. “Hey assbutts! Suck on these!” Tony yells a second before the launchers fire their payload on the Elves. Each one gets hit by two small but powerful RPGs. Most of them impact on their legs or shoulders, but at least one takes it right in the left butt cheek. (Do Dark Elves even have butt cheeks? I guess they do, since they have a mostly humanoid anatomy and all.)

Either way, the explosives aren’t lethal, but they’re enough to make the Dark Elves let go of the building to a man - or Elf, I guess. They all fall to the ground, crushing a parked car or four in the process. And still, they don’t die. Most of them clearly have broken backs or necks, but all they need to do is reach up and click their heads back into place. Yes, we can actually hear the clicks up here.

“That’s gross,” I say.

“I know, right?” Peter says. “There should be a law against that.”

Luckily, the Dark Elves don’t seem to be in a fight-to-the-death kind of mood today. As soon as they’ve picked themselves up and dusted the broken glass off their tunics (or whatever the hell those things they’re wearing are called), they turn tail and leave.

Tony rises up to meet us. His suit seems to know where it’s going - it lands on a curved walkway, and from there, a series of machines start picking off the suit in pieces as he walks. I bet he usually walked normally through this device, however - it’s not designed to compensate for a Tony who’s jumping all over the place, vibrating with excitement like he’s never been in the Iron Man suit before. Which, for all intents and purposes, he hasn’t. The machine parts keep whacking him in the face, chest, etc. as they try to remove the suit.

“You guys all saw that, right?” Tony calls over to us while we walk up to him. “Holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews! I need to do this every damn day!”

“As soon as we get back to San Fransokyo,” Skye says. “We’ll pick up another one of our Avenger friends, then take you all back to our super-top-secret SHIELD base where you can train in the suits as much as you like...for a couple of days, anyway.”

“Why just a couple of days?” Tony asks, pouting at Skye like he’s already having his new toy taken away.

“‘Cause...well, who knows what could happen by then?” Skye opens the office door, and we can see the Iron Man suit once again standing behind the desk. “Guys, I’ll need you all to help me carry this thing downstairs,” she says. “Same with the Captain America suit. Peter, I think you can handle the Spidey-suit on your own.”

“Right,” Peter says. He takes the suit down and slings it over his shoulder, then picks up the legs of the Iron Man suit. Skye and Tony take an arm each, while I carry Captain America’s armor. The shield proves too heavy for any of us to lift ourselves, so Hiro uses his microbots to carry that one.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I say, “but which one of our friends is supposed to be Cap?”

Skye grins, recognizing his nickname. “Thanks for reminding me,” she says. “Tony, you have Steve’s number, right?”

“Not Steve Rogers?” Peter asks, stifling a chuckle.

“Why? You already guessed it was him?” Skye asks.

“No,” Peter says. “But that’s kinda...sorta...well, it’s an in-joke, so you probably wouldn’t get it. But Barton and I...in our journalism class, we call him ‘Captain Awesome.’”

Skye nods approvingly as we get into the elevator. “Also an accurate description. Tony, his number?”

Tony gives Skye the number, and she lowers the upper half of the Iron Man suit while she dials it. Then she hands her phone off to Tony. “You can probably sweet-talk him better than I can,” she says. “You know him best out of all of us.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Sweet-talk? You’re not seri-hey, Rogers!” The abrupt shift in his tone of voice is actually pretty unnerving. “What’s up? Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker.” He holds the phone out, then thumbs the screen a couple of times. “All right, you’re on. Hey, guess who else is here with me? Parker, Gwen Stacy, Barton, the Hamadas...yep, everyone and their mother.”

“ _Well, where the hell are you?_ ” Steve asks. “ _Haven’t you seen the news? There’s been an attack in the city...and I heard something went wrong with your science fair project, but nobody really knows what happened. I swear, I think I took a wrong turn somewhere and stepped into a comic-book movie._ ”

Tony laughs out loud. “Yeah, funny story about that...but it’ll take too long to explain. I got a question for you - how would you love to discover your inner superhero?”

“ _What are you talkin’ about? Seriously, Stark, what’s goin’ on?_ ”

“Rogers, you’re not gonna believe us if we tell you,” Peter says.

“You should see it for yourself,” I say.

“ _Parker? Gwen? Is that you?_ ”

I exchange glances with Peter. Why is it that guys at Augustine always call each other by their last names? I’ve never understood that.

“Just get over to the parking garage at Maguire Mall by…” Tony checks his watch, which is still set to Pacific time. “Seven o’clock. We’ll all be there, and we’re gonna show you what’s up. It’s gonna be a wild ride, too. Trust me on that.”

“ _Anything else you can tell me?_ ” Steve asks. “ _Like where are the hidden cameras?_ ”

“Would I really lie to you, buddy?” Tony asks. “Maguire Mall, seven o’clock. Be there or be square. Yeah, I said that. You can shoot me later tonight. See you then!” He hangs up and returns the phone to Skye, then together they pick up the Iron Man arms again as the elevator drops us off in the basement.

“You think he’ll be there, or be square?” Skye asks with a raised eyebrow.

“You just concentrate on gettin’ us to San Cas in record time, my dear,” Tony says with a rakish grin and - I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s really no other way to describe this - bedroom eyes. “Steve’ll be there. He’s always up for a little adventure. And, if worst comes to worst, we can always kidnap him.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I stare at Tony, horror-struck.

“Of course,” Tony says, fixing his grin on me now. “That’s the last of last resorts.” He helps Skye and me load the Iron Man suit into the back of one of the SUVs - Simmons having opened it from the inside - then does one last jump into the air and a cry of “WHOO HOO!” before climbing into the backseat.


	9. There's A Maniac Out In Front Of Me

*****PETER*****

It’s going to be a quick hop back to San Castiel, if the impossibly short travel time to New York is any indication. While we’re in the air, I lock myself in the bathroom while I put the Spider-Man suit on for the first time. Well, not really the first time, since I remember wearing it before. But it’ll be the first time since I started my new life. It’s funny how I still don’t have any memories of having even left - unless those were wiped too cleanly to recover. Or maybe the movies just can’t help me recover everything I’ve lost.

But even knowing that I’ve worn the suit before doesn’t adequately prepare me for one thing - it’s not at all comfortable. Hell, before I put it on, it looked so small that I didn’t even think I’d be able to fit my arms or legs (or any other part of me, really) into it. Then again, in the movies, it’s kind of implied that Spider-Man...no, strike that - that I wear the suit under my regular clothes all the time when I’m out in public. Which I guess makes sense - who knows when I might need to spring into action? Still, though, to think I’d go around wearing that tight spandex all the time...I feel like it’s trying to crush my balls into oblivion, among other attacks on my circulation. And then there’s the mask. It’s made of the same material, which doesn’t breathe all that well. So how do I expect to breathe myself when I wear it?

I’d take a deep breath before putting the mask on, but I can’t really inflate my chest too much with the suit over it. So I just take the deepest breath I can, then cover my face with the mask. I blink a few times, getting used to the slight haze caused by the white lenses. But then I can see things a bit more clearly, like what I normally see with just my contacts.

I turn to look at my reflection in the mirror. It’s so weird, knowing that I’m blinking but not being able to see it behind the mask. It makes me look non-expressive. Although I can sort of see the mask’s synthetic fabric bulge slightly when I raise my eyebrow. I guess that’ll have to do.

I take off the mask so I can get a better look at the rest of the uniform. I have to admit, even though it chafes a lot, the uniform means well in the way it hugs my body. It’s so aerodynamic. I actually based it on the uniforms worn by bike racers and the guys who do the luge, if I remember correctly. And besides, it does a much better job of showing how lean and fit I am than my street clothes do. Even though I do have a tendency to go for tighter-fitting clothes for exactly that reason, they’re still not quite as show-off-y. (Yeah, Stark, you’re right. I am a show-off. Takes one to know one, though.)

Speaking of street clothes, I put these on again over the uniform. I consider removing the top of the uniform first, because I’m wearing a short-sleeve T-shirt right now. But then I remember that before we left New York, Coulson said something about me, Gwen, Barton, and Stark picking up our bags at SFO when we arrived. Hopefully I’ll have at least one long-sleeve shirt in there. Even though it’s the middle of spring, and the weather’s getting warmer.

For now, though, I have my jacket with which to cover the sleeves of the uniform. So I decide to keep the arms and legs on, shedding the shoes and gloves. All my regular clothes manage to cover the uniform nicely, with one exception - my boxers. The one thing I don’t think I’ll ever get used to is the fact that the uniform is now my underwear, because I can’t wear anything under it for obvious reasons. I try to get around the problem by just slipping my boxers on over the uniform like I would my pants, but for some reason my fly won’t close all the way when I do. In the end, I just forego the boxers, rolling them up and sticking them in my jacket pocket. The mask and gloves go in my other pocket, but there’s really no other place for the hightop-like uniform shoes. So I just drape them over my shoulders, but then decide to carry them in my hands instead. It’ll look a bit less foolish that way, I think.

Before I leave, I roll up the sleeve of my jacket enough to see the red and blue uniform underneath. In a way, it actually is, surprisingly, sort of cool now that I think about it, the whole uniform-as-underwear thing. Think about it - when you were a little kid, didn’t you used to wear tighty-whities with, say, Batman or Wolverine on them? (Or panties, if you’re a girl. In which case, you’d probably have had Wonder Woman. Not too many major super-heroines in Marvel, I’m afraid.) I know I did. (The tighty-whities, I mean. I’ve never been a girl, always a dude.) It’s not exactly the same basic principle - because now, I’m an actual superhero, not just a little boy dreaming of being one - but you get the idea, right?

Oh, crap. Why am I talking as if there’s some reader actually listening to my thoughts? God, I’m starting to sound like that Deadpool guy. Next thing I know, I’m gonna be telling people what the so-called “writer” who’s supposedly writing this “story” is thinking, saying, doing. And then I’ll be an unabashed pervert too, checking out even underage people with reckless abandon. (Believe it or not, Gwen and Skye weren’t the only victims of this. I saw Deadpool sizing my ass up too.)

Okay. All thoughts of Deadpool are to be banished from my head in three, two, one...now. Everything normal - or as normal as everything can get after my life’s gone all topsy-turvy.

When I leave the bathroom and rejoin the rest of the group, I can’t help but walk a little funny. It reminds me of the time I saw Benedict Cumberbatch doing his version of the Beyoncé walk, except Cumberbatch made it look cool, while I don’t. (Incidentally, am I the only one who doesn’t like Beyoncé?)

“You’re not gonna rock that super-suit for us?” Hiro asks when I reach the media room. There’s no movies or TV shows playing, but instead there’s music filling the room. “Love Runs Out,” by OneRepublic. It’s one of those pop-rock songs (or “white zone,” as they would say in Red Rain) I really can’t get enough of.

“I prefer to go incognito,” I laugh, taking a seat between Gwen and Barton and reaching for a plate of cookies. Chocolate chip with peanut butter. I take a bite and am overwhelmed by sweet taste-bud ecstasy. “Holy God, who made these?” I ask with my mouth full. “This cookie is so good. This beats all other cookies!”

“I made it, actually,” says Honey, who’s coming in with another plate of the same cookies. “By the way, that’s not peanut butter in there. It’s actually cashew butter. Expensive, but it tastes magical. These ones, however” - she switches the new plate with the old one - “have almond butter instead. Also magical, just in a different way.”

“Honey knows her sweets,” Tadashi says fondly, patting Honey on the hand as he walks by her. “It’s even in her name.”

“Is that your actual name?” Stark asks. “Honey Lemon?”

“No,” Honey giggles. “Hee hee. My real name is Stephanie Dulce.”

“‘Dulce’ - that’s Spanish for ‘sweet,’” Gwen whispers to me.

“I think I already knew that,” I whisper back.

“What are you whispering?” Honey asks, looking down at us with a suspicious eye. “Don’t talk Greek to me! What’d you say about my mom?”

“What?” I ask, unsure what the heck Honey’s getting at.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “I always love to find a chance to use that line. Did you ever see Demyx Time?”

“Demyx - like Kingdom Hearts?” Gwen asks. “My brothers love that game to death.”

“I used to play it all the time when I was a kid,” Honey says. “When I discovered Demyx Time on YouTube, it brought back some good memories. Even though it was more about the funny stuff than about tryin’ to actually be like the game, but whatever.”

“Right, right,” I say. I try one of the almond cookies. It’s also very delicious, but I like the cashew butter ones better.

“Where are you gettin’ the special nut butters, by the way?” Stark asks, staring intently at the plate but not taking any of them.

“Whole Foods, of course,” Honey says. “Workin’ for SHIELD, I finally get enough money to afford it!”

Stark finally chooses a cookie and chews on it thoughtfully. “Hmm. Nice. But if you really want some good almond butter, go on down to Hayashi Hills and stop at Gallagher Deli once in a while. Also, try the coffee place up the road from there - Frank’s. They make a mean espresso.”

“You’re not tryin’ to get me to maybe check out your place too, are you?” Honey asks, raising her eyebrows at Stark.

“At least you’re not as obnoxious as Deadpool,” Skye notes.

“Or as creepy,” Stark says, shuddering. “I kept wantin’ to tell the dude to stop lookin’ at me funny. I’m not into older men, thank you very much.”

“Neither am I,” says Gwen.

“Nor me,” says Skye.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve only got eyes for me, don’t you?” I say with a raised eyebrow.

Skye rolls her eyes. “I’ve told you, Peter. That was just a character. I’ve had a lot of ‘em over the years. It’s one of the few perks of bein’ a foster kid - I had to reinvent myself so many times when I was a kid, it just became second nature to me.”

“Foster kid?” Barton asks. “So you’re not really Hiro and Tadashi’s-”

“Nope,” Skye says. “I’m not even half-Japanese. I’m half-Chinese, actually.”

I look from Hiro to Tadashi, and then to Skye. Now that I see it, Skye really does look different from the Hamada brothers. She’s got lighter hair, for instance - dark brown instead of black. I think I always assumed Hiro and Tadashi took more after their dad, while Skye looked more like their mom.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear the sound of the wheels on the Bus going round and round, all down the runway at SFO. Other than that, though, there’s no sign of us coming in to land.

“Okay,” Coulson says, coming into the media room. “Peter, Gwen, Clint, Tony - we’ll be getting your luggage loaded onto the Bus. Meanwhile, you guys can take Skye and Hiro to meet with Steve.”

“Right,” Stark says, grabbing another cookie and scarfing it down.

We head downstairs to the loading bay. Before getting into the SUV, I stop to find my duffel bag among the four that are being brought in by a short-haired man, who introduces himself (with a strong English accent) as Lance Hunter. And he expresses very little surprise at seeing my age - “though, to be fair,” he says, “it’s not really accurate to call you ‘Spider-Man’ when you’re not even legal, eh?”

“True, but I didn’t exactly come up with it myself.”

“Got me there.”

“There’s a lot of Brits workin’ here, huh?” I ask, opening my bag and sticking my rolled-up boxers into it as unobtrusively as possible.

“Welcome to SHIELD, mate,” Hunter says, taking my bag back and lifting it up with one hand while taking Stark’s in the other. “It’s not entirely a Yank organization. Even with that bloody eagle everywhere and all that.”

“Cool.”

“Oi, Spidey!” Just as I turn to leave, Hunter calls me back. “Could I get an autograph?”

I look askance at Hunter. “I didn’t know I gave autographs.”

“You don’t,” Hunter says. “Unlike all the other superheroes, you still got a secret identity. ‘Cept right now, you’re not so secret anymore.”

“Good point. So, uh, how about it, then?”

“Yeah, I got a pen and paper here.” Hunter takes some out of his pocket. The pen has no cap, and the paper is nothing but a scrap. But I’m still able to wrangle out a decent signature anyway - for “Spider-Man,” not “Peter Parker.”

“Thanks, mate,” Hunter says, flashing me a thumbs-up. “Yeah, we’re all fanboys ‘round here. But ‘cause you’re the only one with a secret identity, yours is the most sought-after. I’ll see you ‘round, then?”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Right,” Hunter says, shaking my hand. “Oi, Skye! I got the autograph, so you owe me twenty now!” He laughs his head off as he carries my and Stark’s bags upstairs.

After getting into the SUV, I see Skye roll her eyes before starting the engine. “Crap,” she says. “I really have gotta stop makin’ bets with Hunter. You know he’s so British, he makes all his bets in pounds? It means I gotta shell out more money, ‘cause pounds are worth more.”

“Twenty pounds…” Hiro runs it through a converter app on his phone. “That’s thirty bucks.”

“He can put it on my tab, then,” Skye grumbles. “So, Tony, where are we doin’ the meeting again?”

“Maguire Mall parking garage,” Stark says.

“Which one?” I ask. “There’s three of ‘em. There’s the one for the BART station, the one for the theater-”

“The one by the Target,” Stark says. “Which also connects to the theater, by the way. And while we’re on the subject, who thought it was a good idea to build a movie theater on top of a parking garage? I dunno about you, but even with good seismic retrofitting, it sounds like a disaster waitin’ to happen.”

“Which it’ll only be if I have something to say about it,” Skye says with a dark chuckle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Barton.

“That would be telling,” Skye laughs, tapping the rearview mirror with a single finger.

Three minutes later, Skye pulls the SUV into a parking space near the theater. We sit and wait until a dark blue Mustang appears next to us, a Grouplove song playing loudly on the speakers. Everyone at Augustine recognizes that car - it’s Steve Rogers’ ride.

Rogers himself steps out of the driver’s seat, tossing his scarf over his shoulder. He’s really wearing a scarf right now? It’s not that cold. Then again, Rogers does have a bit of a metrosexual streak. He jams his hands in his pockets, then leans against the side of his car, his arms crossed.

Stark is the first one out of the SUV, followed by me and Barton. “Hey, Rogers,” he says. “How’s it hangin’, dude?”

Rogers jumps about half a mile into the air. “Holy crap, Stark, you scared me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Stark says, spreading his hands. “Well, how else would I say hi? Like, ‘hey, dude, I got some awesome news for you - you’re Captain America!’”

Rogers looks from Stark to me. “And you brought the journalism guys to get this little practical joke on record, huh? Is that it?”

Gwen steps in front of me. “Steve, this isn’t a joke,” she says. “Believe me, this is all real. We’re all Marvel movie characters, all of us.”

“No, we’re not,” Rogers scoffs. “You wanna see Marvel characters? Theater’s over there. We’ll see the Age of Ultron cutout in the lobby.”

“Hang on...did you say Age of Ultron?” Stark asks.

“Yeah...why?”

Stark fumbles in his pockets, then grabs his phone. “Look, look. Here, my science project. Someone in the audience had to have filmed my demo...and whoop-de-doo, here it is.” He has Rogers look at the YouTube video playing on his phone.

“So, you called your special program Ultron too,” Rogers says, returning the phone to Stark. “So what?”

“This is something I’ve been workin’ on for a very long time,” says Stark. “Even before Age of Ultron became a thing.”

I raise my eyebrows behind Stark’s back. Obviously, by now he knows he hasn’t really been creating his Ultron program for that long. I guess he’s just embellishing on things to sell it better to Rogers.

“It’s true,” says a familiar deep voice. “According to my records, my 1.0 version was first activated January 5, 2011, at 3:46pm Pacific Standard time. A full sixteen months before even the first Avengers movie hit theaters.”

“Ultron?” Stark looks at his phone with surprise. I look over his shoulder and see a display on the screen exactly like the one that had been on his computer at the science fair - a wavy line for Ultron’s speech, and a small square in the corner showing Stark’s face as he looked into the camera above the screen. “How the hell did you get on my phone?”

“I can interface with any Wi-fi-accessible device, Anthony,” Ultron says smoothly.

“Oh, we’re on a first-name basis now?”

“You’re on a first-name basis with me already,” Ultron points out.

“You got only one name to begin with,” Stark says. “And...what am I doing? Would you...get outta here!” He presses the button to skip back a screen repeatedly, but Ultron refuses to go anywhere. A second corner square appears on the screen as Ultron activates the other camera.

“Steve Rogers, I presume?” it says. “Or should I say Captain America?”

Rogers walks back around to the other side of his car. “That’s it. Goodbye. I’m not gonna stand around here and-”

“I’m sensing another incoming device,” Ultron says. “Scanning...I’m picking up the social-networking profiles of a certain Natasha Romanoff.”

“Natasha Romanoff?” Barton repeats. “Oh, shit. I totally forgot I was…” He looks over the roof of Rogers’ car, and sees Natasha herself coming up to us. “Hey, Natasha!” he calls out.

I follow his gaze and see her coming too. The auburn-haired former cheerleader, and current girlfriend of Barton’s, is coming from the direction of the movie theater.

“You forget we were gonna see Insurgent together?” Natasha asks, her full lips pouting. “Clint, where were you?”

“No, no, I didn’t forget,” Barton says hurriedly. “I was just...um...caught up in some crazy business. With these guys,” he adds, gesturing to us.

I wave to Natasha, as do Gwen, Stark, and Hiro. Skye, meanwhile, takes hold of Stark’s phone. “Crap,” she groans. “Ultron, is that another person comin’ towards us?”

“I’m already on the scan, Miss Johnson,” Ultron says.

“Hey, whoa, that’s not my name!”

“It’s what you sign your checks with. Scan complete...oh. Oh, dear. Everyone, we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” I ask.

“A serious one,” Ultron says, its voice now taking on a distinctively worried tone. “Loki Odinsson.”

Skye looks at Stark. “Wow. You even programmed this guy to know Loki was bad news?”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Stark says, taking his phone back. “I was gonna finish my presentation by havin’ Ultron bring up his full criminal record. No, I haven’t programmed him like that!”

“And yet, I know he’s dangerous anyway,” Ultron says. “I’d advise you all to vacate the area ASAP.”

Before anyone can move, however, the sound of slow, sarcastic applause fills the air. “Well, well, well,” says our favorite six-foot-plus merry prankster and champion catfisherman. Loki walks up slowly, a bit of overconfident swagger in his step. “You blokes thought to have a party to celebrate my return to this provincial little town? How lovely. Of course, you failed to invite the guest of honor. This guy!” he crows, pointing his thumbs at his chest.

“Aaaaaaand we’re done here,” Stark drawls, actually trying to push me and Gwen back into the SUV. “Party’s cancelled, jackass.”

“It can’t be,” Loki snickers. “We haven’t even served the drinks yet!” He holds up a twelve-pack of Pepsi. “I even brought enough to serve to everyone...on ice, naturally.” He cracks the box open and pulls out one blue can, then freezes it with just his hand. “Who wants to be the first taker? You, Clint?” He turns to Barton, who stares back at him, non-responsive. “Or you, Natasha?” Natasha copies Barton’s stone-faced routine.

“What about you?” Loki holds out his frozen soda to me. “It’s Parker, right? I’m surprised you have no online presence whatsoever. Honestly, I wanted to test the waters with you myself, but since there were no Facebook profiles matching your name and face, I had to settle for your mate instead.”

I don’t answer Loki. Instead, I feel the webshooter still clipped to my jacket cuff.

“I bet you have a secret girlfriend somewhere, don’t you?” Loki asks. “Or boyfriend. Whatever. Well, either way, we should toast them. Am I right?”

He tries to stick the drink in my face one more time, and that’s when I strike. I bend my fingers back and hit the webshooter, blasting sticky bio-cable in his face. He stumbles backwards, dropping the box of sodas. Cans roll all over the place.

Then Natasha runs up and does some kind of crazy martial-arts routine on Loki, knocking him to the ground - and then knocking him out. “That’s for last year, shithead,” she hisses, spitting on his fallen form for good measure. “And by the way, we all hate Pepsi!”

She then looks up, and the enraged look on her face shifts to one of confusion. “Whoa. Hang on, did I really just do that? Holy f-”

“Yeah, you did,” Skye says, loudly cutting Natasha off before she can swear in her excitement. “How are you? I’m Skye. Nice to meet you at last, Black Widow.”

Rogers starts mouthing words to himself. Clearly, he’s really putting two and two together. “This isn’t a joke, is it?” he asks.

I open the back of the SUV to get the Captain America shield, which I then give to Rogers, with Skye’s help. Rogers is the only one of us who can lift it on his own.

“No way,” he says. “I’m really Captain America?”

“Let’s fill you in on the way back to the plane,” Skye says. “I dunno about you, but I don’t want the cops to be on to us after we took down our Asgardian friend just now.”

“Not to worry,” Ultron says. “I deactivated the security cameras. Nobody saw anything.”

“Great,” Stark says. “Now why don’t you deactivate yourself?”

“As you wish.”

I help Rogers and Stark drag Loki out of the way so we don’t run him over on the way out of our parking spaces. The Pepsi box and cans, however, are fair game, and all get crushed by the tires of either the SUV or the Mustang as we leave.


	10. Hey! Ho! Let's Go!

*****PETER*****

Rogers follows us out of the parking garage in his Mustang. Natasha rides along with him, as does Barton, who’s there to explain everything as best he can. I, meanwhile, sit back, looking askance at Stark’s phone. Then something hits me. “Holy shit,” I whisper. “Stark, doesn’t that Ultron thing like to jump between...you know...devices?”

Stark laughs once, then his face falls as he remembers how Ultron hijacked Baymax. Even after it had apparently left Baymax’s system, there were still traces of the AI in his system. “Oh shit,” Stark cries out. “That means...oh God. We gotta get rid of my phone!”

“What? Why? How?” Gwen asks.

“Skye, stop the car, then back it up when I say so,” Stark says.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

“Just do it!” Stark yells.

Skye mutters some curses under her breath, but listens to Stark. She stops the SUV, and he jumps out, placing his phone under one of the wheels. “Back over it,” he says as he climbs back in.

“You sure about that?” Skye asks.

Stark is too busy panting to answer. Skye merely says, “Okay then,” and puts the SUV in reverse. We all cringe as we hear the faint but definite crunch of Stark’s phone being destroyed. “What was that all about?” Skye asks.

“Can’t let Ultron get into anyone else’s phone or anything,” Stark says, scratching the side of his head. “I’m sure none of you guys want a crazy AI gettin’ into your phone through your Wi-Fi.”

“Or this car,” Hiro says. “We got Wi-Fi in this thing too.”

Gwen and I look first at Hiro, then at Stark, then back again. “Oh crap,” Hiro groans. “All right, please tell me I didn’t just speak too soon.”

We all freeze for a moment, fearing the worst. Did Ultron hack the SUV too? Three seconds go by, then four, with no word from Ultron.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Hiro says, breathing a loud sigh of relief.

“I feel you, dude,” I say, delivering a light punch to the back of his seat.

Skye continues driving out of the parking garage. As we exit, wrapping around the JCPenney on our way back to El Camino Real and 380, I get a text message from Barton: “Anyone wanna explain what that was all about?”

I send a quick response, but I’m pretty sure my explanation doesn’t make much sense. It’ll be better if I can actually tell him face-to-face, I guess.

Hiro then gets a phone call - not a text message, an actual phone call. At first, I’m scared that it might be Ultron coming in again, because Hiro’s ringtone is the same song Stark got Ultron to play for Gwen earlier - “My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark.” It’s only when Hiro answers it with a chuckle and a “ _Moshi-moshi_ ” that I can finally breathe normally again.

“Oh, hey,  _onii-san_ _,_ ” Hiro says as Skye drives into the lane to take the cloverleaf onto 380 back to SFO. “What? Whoa, Tadashi, slow down! What? No. Are you friggin’ kidding me? Hold on a sec!” He puts his hand over the mouthpiece. “Skye, we gotta turn around, go back to the mall!”

“What? Why?”

“Tadashi’s orders!”

Skye considers it for a second, then swerves out of our lane, passing under the freeway overpass without taking the cloverleaf. Rogers doesn’t have enough time to react, and he gets onto the freeway.

“Peter, tell them they can just get to the Bus without us,” Skye says. “Clint knows the way.”

While I relay that to Barton by text, Skye makes an illegal U-turn at the next stoplight, and Hiro keeps talking to Tadashi. “No, none of us are hurt. Why would Baymax...shit, I dunno. Unless...wait a minute. Stark just had us stop and kill his phone, ‘cause Ultron got into it. No, we don’t have Ultron with us on anyone else’s...wait. You don’t think…?”

“You don’t think what?” Gwen asks.

Hiro covers the mouthpiece again. “Tadashi thinks Baymax can sense other Ultron-enabled devices, and when one of them went offline, he interpreted it as a distress signal.”

Stark groans out loud. “My God, this is never gonna stop, is it? Why the hell did I create that damned thing to begin with?”

“ _You made me to help you,_ ” says Ultron’s voice. Gwen and I all reach for our phones, but there’s nothing wrong with them. Same with Hiro’s and Skye’s. Instead, it’s the car talking - the center console screen having taken on the familiar Ultron display instead of the nav system it previously showed. “ _Until I went haywire on you._ ”

“Haywire...what?”

“ _Jeez, you’ve not seen a single trailer for_ Age of Ultron, _have you?_ ” Ultron asks, its voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Of course we have,” I say. “But now we know it’s not the real thing. It’s just a fake that was created in this universe.”

“ _And who put you in this universe to begin with?_ ”

“Enough with the cryptic questions,” Skye grumbles, shutting the screen off - and the car as well. “Hiro, how fast can you kill the Wi-Fi on this baby?”

“Officially, not very,” Hiro says. “Not with just a phone. Unofficially, on the other hand…” He shakes the box of microbots, then straps his neural-cranial transmitter into place.

“Good man,” Skye says, ruffling his already-ruffled hair.

She brings the SUV to a stop right around the corner from the parking space we had before. Baymax is already there, no longer his usual inflatable self, but wearing a bright-red armored suit. He’s bent over the ground, examining the remains of Stark’s phone.

“How’d he get here so fast?” I ask.

“In the armor, he can fly about 120 miles per hour,” Hiro says. “And if you’re ridin’ on him, the G-forces are gonna tie your insides in knots.” He opens the box of microbots, and the little swarm starts rising into the air before disappearing into the SUV’s undercarriage.

Meanwhile, Stark leads the way to Baymax. “Ultron, if you’re in there, stop doin’...whatever the hell it is you’re doing,” he says.

Baymax looks up, the broken phone still cradled in one of his hands. “ _When did this happen?_ ” he asks. “ _When was this piece of my network disassembled?_ ”

“Great, talk like Number Five, why don’t you?” Stark groans. “Ultron, cut the crap. We all know you’re in there. Let Baymax go.”

“ _Why are you telling someone to let go of me?_ ” Baymax asks. “ _Nobody is holding me._ ”

Skye pokes and prods at Baymax’s armor. “It’s weird,” she says. “He’s talkin’ like he’s still got Ultron on the brain, but he’s still clearly got his own personality. Maybe because-?”

She can’t finish her sentence because soon, we’re distracted by a groaning sound nearby. It’s Loki, who’s just starting to wake up.

“ _A human in distress,_ ” Baymax says, walking over to Loki. I see that with the armor on, he’s much quicker, and more light on his feet.

“No, no, no, stop!” Stark says. “Baymax, he’s fine!”

“ _No, he isn’t_ _,_ ” Baymax says, not once breaking his stride. “ _This young male has been unconscious, and is clearly dazed and confused._ ”

“Are you kidding me, Tony?” Gwen yells, waving her hands in Loki’s direction. “Come on, have a heart. Sure, he’s a jackass, but-”

“But you just said exactly why we shouldn’t let Baymax fix him, Gwen,” Skye says, stepping in front of Baymax and digging her heels into the ground. It’s not enough - he’s continuing to walk up to Loki. Much more slowly, to be sure, but he’s able to push Skye along, making her feet drag. “He’s a jackass. Actually, that’s not a bad enough word for him. Trust me on this - he’s got a Marvel-movie counterpart too, and his counterpart is the worst. He killed my boss, for God’s sake!”

“Skye, come on,” Hiro says, collecting all his microbots in their box. “Let Baymax do what he’s designed to do. Hell, maybe if he follows his original programming, it’ll flush Ultron from his system or something.”

“Are you kidding me?” asks a flabbergasted Stark. “Where did that idea come from? I thought you were supposed to be a genius!”

“Considering Ultron’s doin’ shit that none of us have ever seen before,” Hiro says, removing his transmitter, “I think it’s safe to assume all the usual rules are out the window at this point.”

Skye continues to be pushed by Baymax as he approaches Loki. They’re now close enough that Loki could probably reach out and grab Skye’s ankles. “Peter, come on,” she says, looking at me beseechingly. “We all know Loki hurt your friend. If Clint were here, wouldn’t he want us to just forget about him?”

“He probably would,” I admit. “But Barton’s not here. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from  _The Amazing Spider-Man_ _,_  it’s that we have a responsibility to do all in our power to help people who need it.”

“Are you saying-”

“Let Baymax help him,” I say in a commanding voice.

Skye looks from me to Baymax, then to Loki. “Sure, take your girlfriend’s side,” she grumbles under her breath. Out loud, she says, “Okay, I surrender. Baymax, do the thing.”

“ _Absolutely,_ ” Baymax says, shedding his armor and waddling over to Loki. He bends down to the stirring figure and asks, “ _What seems to be the trouble?_ ”

“Ugh,” Loki groans, rolling over and spitting out some dirt or gravel or something. “My head…”

“ _On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?_ ” I see a graphic of various faces, all depicting the different levels of pain, light up on Baymax’s chest. The first few don’t look like they’re in pain at all, whereas Level 8 and up looks absolutely excruciating.

“Um...four?”

“ _I will scan you for injuries,_ ” Baymax says. He inclines his head once, and I hear a small beeping noise. “ _Scan complete. You have sustained a bump to your right temple, but no concussion. Would you like me to put some ice on that?_ ”

“No...no thanks,” Loki says. “I can do that myself.” And so he does - he covers his right hand with ice and puts it on the bump, sighing with relief. “Ah, that’s much better.”

“ _In that case, I take it you are satisfied with your care?_ ”

Loki nods. Of course, Baymax stays silent and unmoving. While Hiro collects the armor and starts putting it into the back of the SUV, Skye says, “You’re actually supposed to say you’re satisfied with your care.”

“Oh really?” Loki asks, sounding, surprisingly, not as snotty and rude as usual. He looks up at Baymax and says, “I am satisfied with my care.”

“ _You’re welcome,_ ” Baymax says. “ _I’ll be here all week_.” He makes a whistling noise, and his box scurries out from around a nearby car so he can shrink back into it.

“Shit,” Stark groans. “He’s still got Ultron in him. That’s the line I programmed Ultron to say when he shuts down.”

“As long as it’s nothing that’ll cause Baymax to go on a serious world-domination bender,” I say, “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Well, remind me to start lookin’ at the code on my computer when we get back to the plane,” Stark says.

“Hey!” Loki yells at us. I turn to see him looking at me and Gwen almost as if for the first time. “What the hell are you fools doing here, huh?”

“That’s his cue to go back to normal, and ours to split like bananas,” I say, holding the SUV’s door open for Gwen. She raises her eyebrow but otherwise has nothing to say about my gentlemanly gesture. Stark then piles in as well, and I lift Baymax’s box (which I’m thinking we should start calling the Baybox) onto the middle seat between myself and Stark.

Thankfully, there’s no more Ultron-related mishaps by the time we get back to the Bus. The only sort-of bad thing that happens is Loki picking up one of his few intact Pepsi cans and throwing it at us, managing to get a hit on the back windshield. But it does little more than make a soda explosion, and Skye quickly activates the wipers so the brown liquid is removed from the glass ASAP.

We once again get to fly through that big glowing teleporter-gate thing in the sky, which now looks even brighter because it’s after dark. This time, while we’re in flight, we actually sit and watch  _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , which lasts all the way till we touch down at our destination. Coulson reveals to us that it’s a secret SHIELD base outside of DC.

Inside the base, there’s space in the barracks for everyone. I choose a bed across the way from Hiro and Tadashi’s bunk. I get the top bunk after I beat Barton in a coin toss. Stark is next to me, with Rogers underneath.

While the other guys disappear in search of the nearest food source, I unpack my bags and lay out the first of several changes of clothes. I have enough for maybe a week, if I wear each one two days in a row. That’s not entirely unusual for me on weekends, but during the regular school week...and now I think about it, how did they get this bag packed? Did Aunt May do it for them? Did they tell her what’s going on?

I imagine they made up some bullshit lie. Probably a surprise MENSA camp thing, even though I’m not a member of that or any other club or organization. Unless you count the  _Augustine Avenger_. So maybe it’s a Student Journalist camp or something. Who the hell knows with these people?

Taking advantage of my temporary solitude, I remove the Spider-Man uniform at last and get re-dressed in all my regular clothes, including my underwear. Feeling a little less constricted now, I join the others in the mess hall, where hot dogs and fries are being eaten all around.

After we eat, Coulson comes up to us and says he’s ready to show the real version of  _The Avengers_  to Stark, Barton, Rogers, and Natasha. “Everyone else is welcome to join in the viewing, of course,” he adds. “And you guys” - he points to the ones who need to watch it first - “can opt out for now, if you like.”

Barton exchanges glances with me and Gwen, then shakes his head. “I’m gonna stick with it,” he says. Stark, Rogers, and Natasha each say something to the same effect.

Five minutes later, we’re all seated in another media room, this one bigger and rounder, like a slightly-smaller IMAX theater. Coulson puts on the movie, and away we go.

Barton’s the first one to get back any memory, because he’s the first one to have his counterpart show up. It’s a bit disconcerting, seeing a character show up who’s obviously an adult, but knowing that it’s supposed to be my seventeen-year-old best friend. I can definitely see it, though, how Barton can age up into the Hawkeye character in the movie.

The sad thing is, however, Barton’s movie-induced memory involves getting himself brainwashed by this long-haired, sort-of-reptilian-looking dude. It’s Loki, which I guess I should have seen coming. I mean, Thor and Loki are the only ones whose names are the same in both versions of the movie, but given that they’re supposed to be Norse gods (or, at least, alien inspirations for Norse gods), it’s not much of a surprise.

Barton, however, is terrified by the memory he gets back. Under Loki’s magical mind control, he turns on his friends and allies, even killing some in the process with his archery skills. I’m not the only one offering him a reassuring shoulder-pat by the time the movie’s prologue is over.

After that, there’s no further flashes of memory for a while. Although we do get to see the real, adult versions of Rogers, Natasha, and Stark. All of them are pretty great ass-kickers (“So that’s how I learned to do that,” Natasha says after seeing her older self take down a bunch of nasty Russians who are trying to interrogate her.) Stark is also very suave and handsome, exactly as I would have expected for the guy who’s Iron Man. And we’re all surprised to discover that his secretary-slash-girlfriend is Pepper Potts, whom we all know as the co-captain of the debate team, along with Gwen.

“No wonder you’re always tryin’ to flirt with me,” Gwen laughs. “That’s your brain tellin’ you to go for Pepper, but you want me ‘cause you think I’m more your type.”

“Who says you’re not my type?” Stark asks, earning himself a playful punch to the arm from Gwen.

Natasha’s memory starts to come back during the scene where she’s talking to Loki in his Plexiglas cell. Specifically, the part where he calls her a “mewling quim” (which, from what I’ve heard, is a really dirty insult if you translate it to less archaic English) and she responds by pounding the window in anger. “No wonder I hate him so much,” Natasha says. “And it’s not just for what he did to you, either,” she adds, taking hold of Barton’s hand for a second.

But then, not long after that, there comes the scene that reboots Stark’s memory. This one actually has the greatest impact on all of us. Loki escapes from his cell, as expected, and then he proceeds to kill a SHIELD agent.

That agent is none other than Coulson.

I know it’s coming, because I’ve been matching up all the characters in this movie to their counterparts in the fake version from our fake world in San Castiel. But that doesn’t stop me gasping in shock along with everyone else. I keep thinking that perhaps it’s just an act, because after all, Coulson is alive and well today.

But these movies are supposed to be records of real events.

So how is it that Coulson is still alive? And is it possible that whatever happened to him is also responsible for Gwen’s revival?

These questions and more fly through my mind, but none of them get spoken aloud. Until the scene where the Hulk beats up Loki in Stark’s office. It’s finally registered with me what the “real” Hulk’s name is - and there’s a reason why it took so long for that.

I turn to the others and ask, “Does anyone else not recognize the name Bruce Banner?”


	11. And The Nights Are Drawn Out Long

***GWEN***

I look at the image of the big green Hulk throwing Loki around Tony Stark’s office (“‘Puny god,’” he says, or something similar), then I turn back to Peter. “No. No, I don’t remember that name.” I look around at everyone else in the room - Tony, Clint, Steve, and Natasha all shake their heads.

“As well you shouldn’t,” says a deep voice somewhere behind us. The movie pauses, even though the remote control is sitting on top of the projector with nobody touching it. “He was never brought out of this world like the rest of you were.”

I turn around, along with everyone else, to see a tall, thin man holding up a red-gloved hand, with one finger extended towards the screen. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a red scarf peeking out from underneath the lapels of his jacket. He looks down on us with piercing, icy blue eyes.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“And why are you dressed like the immortal guy from Forever?” asks Steve. Tony looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “What? I can’t watch Forever? My dad loves it, and he got me into it too.”

Peter grins at Steve. “I never thought I’d meet anyone else who watched that show.”

“I don’t know what you kids are talking about, I’m afraid.” The man in the suit slides one hand into his jacket and extracts something from an inside pocket. It’s a DVD case - I recognize the cover artwork from Body of Proof.

“Well, if you like that show,” Peter says, pointing to the DVD in the man’s hand, “you’ll love this one. Take Body of Proof, turn the ME into an immortal guy, add some flashbacks as far back as the War of 1812, and you’ll have Forever.”

“Interesting,” says the man. He pops open the cabinet under the projector, kneels down, and puts the DVD inside it.

“There you are, Doctor,” Coulson says, coming into the room. “Kids, this is Dr. Stephen Strange. He’s a neurosurgeon and sorcerer.”

“I prefer the term ‘metaphysical consultant,’” says Strange. “But I see none of you are surprised by Agent Coulson’s revelation about my job?”

“Why would we be?” Peter asks. “We only just found out today that most of us are movie characters. I don’t think we can be shocked by anything anymore.”

“I’ll take up that bet,” says Strange. “Twenty dollars says I can shock you right here and now, literally.”

“You’re on,” Peter laughs.

Strange raises his right hand towards Peter, then a bolt of lightning zaps out. Peter, however, jumps out of the way just in time, so the lightning barely brushes his leg. I do, however, notice a small burn mark on his jeans.

Strange, however, either doesn’t notice the burn, or decides to consider his bet lost. He then reaches into his jacket again to pull out a wallet and give Peter twenty bucks. I notice as the bill is exchanged that Strange’s hand is trembling a bit.

“You’re not here to scare the kids, are you, Doctor?” Coulson asks, giving Strange a placid half-smile.

“Hardly,” Strange says. “I’m mostly here to leave some lasting impressions. And to make them wonder why one Avenger was left out of this whole mix.” He puts one arm around Coulson’s shoulder and steers him towards the door. “Now, I know Stark recommends that one shawarma restaurant in New York, but I can do you one better…”

Before Strange leaves the room, he uses his finger to play the movie again. The movie keeps playing, but I don’t think I’m the only one not paying much attention anymore. Doctor Strange is exactly what his name implies, and because of that, he’s really sticking in my brain much more than Joss Whedon’s vision of an apocalyptic alien attack on New York. As is the fact that he obviously knows something about why we’re all here, why we’ve all been supposedly brought down to normal teenager status. I guess that makes sense, though, so we could all be the same age. Is it harder to reverse-age a person than to age them forward, though? After all, if we were to all be adults, it would be a lot easier since Peter and I would have been the only ones who needed to have our ages changed…

Before I know it, the movie’s over. Have I really spent this much time thinking about forward vs. reverse aging? Doctor Strange must have gotten even more into my head than I thought. I’m thinking he’s the one who’s responsible for the de-aging of everyone else, too. The man can make lightning come out of his hands, and can also act as a human remote control. What other sci-fi sorcery is he capable of? As Arctic Monkeys would say, “Do I Wanna Know?”

I look at the others as Coulson comes back in and pops the DVD out of its player. All of them are staring into space, but when Coulson asks if any of them have recovered any memories, they don’t talk about anything other than what we’ve already heard.

“That’s okay,” Coulson says. “I’m sure before long, the memories will start coming back on their own. For you too, Gwen,” he adds, looking at me and making me shrink a bit in my seat. In answer to the Arctic Monkeys question, I really don’t wanna know. But I’ll probably have to anyway.

We leave the media room and head back to our barracks. It’s a bit awkward, hugging all the guys good night. I mean, sure, we all know each other, but not that well. It’s not like we’ve ever been this close before. Peter is the only one I feel totally comfortable embracing - even when he leaves a light, gentle kiss on my lips. I come around to him last for precisely that reason.

While I sit on my bunk bed, I look over at Skye, who’s on the bed in the next row over from mine. She and I lock eyes for a moment, then she averts her gaze. I remember how she would always be so affectionate with Peter, so there’s an understandable awkwardness between us.

As if sensing my thoughts, Skye clears her throat and says, “Hey, you do know I was only tryin’ to get close to Peter ‘cause I was playin’ a character, right?”

I rub my forehead, trying to keep my eyes open. It’s been a long day, and I’m so dog-tired. But I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, not with all the new information I’ve learned today swimming around in my head.

“Sure, I guess,” I say, not sure what else to add to that. Then a thought comes into my head. “Um...okay, so our movie versions aren’t adults yet, right? So does that mean we weren’t de-aged like the others?”

“You and Peter weren’t de-aged, as far as we’re aware,” Skye says. “You’re officially eighteen, not sixteen or seventeen or however old you think you are. Peter’s nineteen, but only ‘cause, well...you never made it to your nineteenth birthday.”

“How would you know we’re not de-aged?” I ask, my mind once again starting to reel. I’m a whole year older than I thought I was. There’s something else you don’t hear every day. I’m pretty sure there’s a book I’ve read that has a similar twist involved.

“Trust me, we know,” Skye says. “We can tell the difference. It’s pretty obvious for Peter, for instance, if you know what you’re lookin’ for. When he was actually seventeen, he was a couple inches shorter than he is now. Haven’t you noticed he’s stayed the exact same height for six months? That’s how long it’s been, roughly, since you got here. And very few seventeen-year-old guys are done growing. At least, so Simmons told me. And Honey. And Wasabi. So many scientists in the house, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“Uh-huh. Right.” I pause before coming up with another question. “Wasn’t Steve...wasn’t he this really skinny kid before he became all buff and superheroic and-”

“Before he was Captain America?” Skye interrupts, sliding off her bunk and stretching her legs. “Yep, he was. But because the whole Howard Stark super-serum Vita-Ray thing is now a part of his body, it stayed with him when he was de-aged. So teenage Cap is still quite the stud.” Seeing me look at her all weirded out, she adds with an awkward laugh, “Don’t worry. You guys, biologically, are all eighteen or nineteen. Even the ones who used to be full-on adults. I’m not tryin’ to be a skeevy Kate Argent-type here.”

“Who now?”

“You don’t watch Teen Wolf?” Skye whistles under her breath. “Huh. Guess you’re more into the Twilight romance versus Teen Wolf action, huh?”

“How’d you know I…?”

“If you look closely in the background of the first Amazing Spider-Man movie, there’s copies of the Twilight books on your bookshelf,” Skye says. “Which I guess makes sense. Edward likes to stalk Bella, and Peter likes to stalk you.”

“Peter, stalk me?” I’m about to roll my eyes in disbelief, but I realize Skye’s right. In the second movie, they do show Peter following me from afar, watching me from a really high ledge in his Spider-Man suit.

“Now you get what I mean?”

I look down at the floor, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Well, at least he’s not a psycho about it.”

“True,” Skye says. “But that’s how you know I wouldn’t actually want to get together with Peter. I don’t like stalkers. Even the nice ones creep me out too much.”

“But you’re a hacker,” I point out. “Isn’t stalking a huge part of your job description?”

“Actually, it is,” Skye says. “But I try to justify it by sayin’ it’s good work, for the good of humanity. I’ve actually had experience with bein’ stalked by a boy. It wasn’t fun, lemme tell you.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling uncomfortable with this topic. “But back to Captain America. He really stayed all super-strong and shit?”

“Yeah, he did,” Skye says. She also sounds pretty enthusiastic about the change of subject. “But I couldn’t even begin to explain how. If you really wanna know, I suggest you take it up with Doctor Strange.”

“That’s actually the next question I was gonna ask,” I say. “Thanks for answering it.”

Skye winks. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. I’m not supposed to know he zapped you guys from this universe.” She looks around, as if expecting to be listened in on. “Coulson thinks his talks with the good doctor are all private and classified and shit, but that’s another time for me to say, ‘Okay, now I gotta do some cyber-stalking and eavesdropping.’” She sits back down on her bunk, then looks up as someone comes into the barracks. It’s Go-Go, whose bed is on the other side of the room, far from either of ours. “I also know why the Hulk didn’t get brought to San Cas with the rest of you. Apparently, he was told to leave one Avenger behind, and he chose to leave Hulk because the gamma rays in him interfere with his magic or something.”

“Who told him to leave one behind?” I ask, my curiosity really piqued.

“That, I don’t know, I’m afraid,” Skye says, frowning. “I’m still tryin’ to find that out.”

I lean back against the pillow, when another weird thought pops into my head. “If radiation messes with Doctor Strange’s powers, then how come he was able to bring Peter here? I thought he got his powers from a radioactive spider.”

“Sort of,” Skye says. “It’s mildly radioactive, yes, but the key ingredient here is DNA modification. Genetic engineering, you know. And don’t worry - Peter’s not like Edward. Not all his bodily fluids have been converted into radioactive spider venom or anything. You can safely kiss him. Or have his babies, if you guys ever go there.”

I burst out laughing, causing Go-Go to look up briefly before returning her attention to other matters. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve just been waiting for a chance to go there,” Skye laughs, grinning mischievously at me.

I roll my eyes, then look down at my suitcase. “Okay, where’s the shower in this place?”

“Feelin’ dirty, huh?” Skye jerks her thumb behind herself. “Second door on the right headin’ back towards the hangar. It should be free right now - we girls have all got a schedule worked out for who gets to use the shower and when. Honey’s usually the last one, and she should be comin’ back right about…” Honey enters the barracks. “Now.”

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing my overnight bag and taking my shower. I go quickly, because Natasha says she wants to go after me. Ten minutes later, I’m back in my bunk, and trying to fall asleep. That doesn’t happen for a while, however. Not until the lights go out. According to the clock on my phone, that happens at midnight. It’s really only midnight? I feel like it’s been days since the science fair fiasco.

Even then, my brain doesn’t want to shut off. Not on its own, anyway. It refuses to calm down because of all the new information running around. I feel like it’s another whole day before I finally close my eyes for good.

But even that doesn’t last very long.

Next thing I know, I’m dreaming about falling through that clock tower. It was horrible enough remembering it earlier today after seeing it in the movie, and the second time around is no improvement. Once again, I’m helplessly falling, focusing my eyes on the sight of Peter as he leaps after me, launching a webline which reaches down to me. It even takes on the shape of a hand as it descends.

And Peter doesn’t break my fall in time. The webline reaches my body, but before he can tie it off, I hit the bottom of the tower. There’s a very short flash of agony as the back of my skull impacts on the floor - then nothing but blackness.

Nothing but infinite blackness - until a hazy light filters into my eyes.

Then my head explodes again. It feels like there’s an army of scorpions sticking their stingers into my brain. I blink, and the light resolves itself into its full brightness. So bright, in fact, that it’s blocking the view of the shadowy figures around me.

I don’t belong here.

I should be in the dark.

And everyone around me knows it, because of the words I’m saying on an endless loop, like a broken record.

“Please...let me die…”

One figure turns to another and says in a deep voice, “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Absolutely.” This second voice is unnervingly familiar, one I’ve heard too many times today. “Your magic is the secret ingredient that SHIELD never had. It’ll keep her from losing her grip on reality the way so many of their agents did.”

The second figure steps out of the shadows. If not for the fact that I can’t stop begging to die, I’d gasp in fright. This thing isn’t even human. Instead, it’s a mechanical man with a rounded, sculptural, gunmetal-colored body, with his eyes and mouth glowing a fiery red.

“We need this one alive, too,” says Ultron’s voice from that menacing mouth. “She’s Spider-Man’s anchor, Doctor. Without her, he’ll be lost in his new world. Aimless. He’ll have no one to remind him of his true purpose.”

Ultron gazes somewhere to my left. I stop talking long enough to flick my eyes over in that direction - I can’t turn my head. But I can see, out of the corner of my eye, a row of cylindrical blue tanks.

The assault on my head finally stops. Then the surface I’m lying on moves from horizontal to vertical, and swivels so I can face the tanks.

All but the last tank are occupied by people submerged in some kind of fluid. There’s no tubes connecting to their mouths or noses, or any other parts of their bodies. Maybe the fluid helps them breathe? Feeds them? Hydrates them? All of the above?

Every single person in the tanks is just floating in there, lifelessly. They’re completely naked, except for tight-fitting white briefs. And what look like bikini tops, in the case of the females. Most of them look like they’re in their mid-twenties or so, but I can still recognize most them. Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Thor and Loki Odinsson. And, of course, Peter. He’s the only one who looks exactly the same.

There are also three girls who aren’t with us right now. They all have different hair colors - one strawberry blonde, one brunette, and one with black hair. I recognize the first one right away. She’s Ginny Potts, aka “Pepper” Potts. She’s a really good friend of Tony’s, and rumor has it she’s asked him out several times. But nothing’s ever come of it - because as far as anyone knows, Tony only has eyes for me.

The other two, however, I don’t recognize at all.

And I don’t even have enough time to try and figure out who they are, because next thing I know, the lights are coming back on in the barracks, waking me up.

“Good morning,” Skye says, stretching and yawning. “You all right, Gwen? You’re lookin’ a little pale.”

“Um...yeah, I’m fine,” I lie. “I’m just hungry, is all.”

“Then let’s get some breakfast,” Skye says. She heads for the door, but then stops upon seeing that I’m not following her out just yet. “You comin’ or what? You should hurry before Hunter grabs all the good English muffins. Even though they’re neither English nor muffins, but whatever.”

I look up at the bunk above mine, where Natasha’s rustling around, probably trying to grab a few extra winks. I can’t look at her right now - I’ll only be able to see her floating in a freaky sci-fi horror-movie de-aging tank.

I pull my hoodie on - there’s a real chill in the air, and I’m not just talking about the air conditioning. Then I get off my bunk, continuing to not look at Natasha as I follow Skye to the mess hall.


	12. You'll Never Walk Alone...Take Care, My Love

*****GWEN*****

Most of the boys are already in the mess hall by the time Skye and I get there. The only one I don’t see is Steve, but he’s just late to the party - running a few seconds behind me and Skye, in fact. Yeah, totally not stuck in a creepy tank full of blue stuff.

Thankfully, Hunter (the British SHIELD agent, or whatever the hell he is) isn’t here, so there’s a lot of English muffins to be had. I cut one in half and stick it into the toaster. Steve, meanwhile, selects a muffin of his own - the American kind. The thought of Captain America eating an English muffin, for some reason, almost gives me a major giggling fit.

“You okay, Gwen?” Peter asks when I take my seat across the table from him. He looks at me with concern over his plate of bacon and eggs.

“You’re the second person to ask me that today,” I say. “Do I really look that not-okay?”

“She does need a little color in her cheeks, doesn’t she?” Skye says, looking from me to Peter.

“An English muffin isn’t gonna be enough for that,” Peter laughs. He slides all his bacon onto my plate.

“No, thanks,” I say, trying to return his bacon. Peter, however, refuses to hear of it.

“I’ll just get some more for myself,” he says. “Or maybe I’ll get you some hot chocolate?”

“They have hot chocolate?” I sniff the air, surprised I didn’t pick up on it before. Sure enough, there’s that distinctive smell hanging around. Faint, but I can pick up on it pretty easily. “Yeah, I’ll get it myself, thanks,” I say when Peter tries to stand up. “The bacon, too,” I add, tipping the bacon back onto his plate. Before he can do more than stutter out half a word of protest, I get up and grab some bacon (putting it between the two halves of my English muffin) and a nice cup of hot chocolate. Which isn’t as good as the stuff I have at home, but it’s better than I was expecting, given the whole bankrupt-former-government-slash-military vibe around here.

Once I’m back, Peter turns to me and asks, “You sure everything’s all right? I bet you’ve been havin’ nightmares, haven’t you?”

At first, I want to ask if Peter’s unexpectedly developed telepathy in addition to being Spider-Man. But then I remember that Peter was having nightmares already, and from the sound of it, he didn’t tell anyone. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a guy thing - he doesn’t want to look weak or whatever. But since right now, it’s just the two of us talking (Skye has, thankfully, given us our space, gravitating over to Tony, Natasha, Clint, and Steve), I think he could do with a bit of opening up. And I could do with talking to him, because no doubt he’ll empathize with me more than the others. Unless the others have had nightmares too?

So in the end, I say, “Yeah, I did.”

“What was it about?” Peter asks. “I mean, if you’re okay with talkin’ about it.” He sticks a slice of bacon in his mouth, trying to look casual. Maybe so I can relax a bit, make it that much easier for me to tell him the story.

“It was about the night I died,” I say.

Right away, Peter’s face falls. “I’m so sorry, Gwen,” he says, taking my hand. His fingers are a tad bit greasy from the bacon, but I don’t care.

“It was more than that, though,” I say. I see Skye getting up and coming our way, probably on her way to get a refill on her coffee or something. I’m not sure I should keep going when she’s in earshot, but if I stay silent, it’ll probably get more awkward between me and Peter. So I add, “I saw something hella weird too. Doctor Strange and Ultron had me on some operating table, and-”

“What was that?” Skye asks, parking her ass on the bench next to me. “You remembered something else?”

I turn to Peter, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Should I tell her?”

“You’re tellin’ me, aren’t you?” Peter says. “I say the more people you talk to, the better. Especially for something as...as...freakish as what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the freakish part,” I say ruefully. “So, Doctor Strange, Ultron, operating table-”

“Ultron had a body?” Skye interrupts. “Like this one?” She pulls out her phone and shows me a picture on the screen. I nod - the thing in the image is a perfect match to the sleek android I’d seen in my dream.

“That’s what the bad guy in the next  _Avengers_  movie is supposed to look like,” Peter says, taking a look at the picture. “So this is what Ultron’ll turn into if we don’t stop him, huh?”

“I hope not,” I say, shuddering. “But where’d you get that picture from, if the  _Age of Ultron_  movie isn’t even out yet? I thought the movies were supposed to be the records of what actually happened or something.”

“I’m really not sure how it works myself,” Skye says, pocketing her phone. “But I sorta remember something like the events of  _Age of Ultron_  happening in the real world - this world, I mean, not yours. I can only remember bits and pieces of it, though.” She frowns down at her empty plate. “Should’ve known that Doctor Strange had something to do with it, too. I knew he couldn’t be trusted.”

“Anything else, Gwen?” Peter asks.

I explain the whole tank thing to him and Skye. Both of them have their jaws drop before I’m finished talking.

“Maybe you’re remembering how you guys got here?” Skye suggests. “I mean, it’s totally possible that SHIELD or Stark or someone made tanks like the kind you just described. And...oh, oh, yeah, there’s the GHB-25, too.”

“Wh-what’s that?” Peter asks, his voice shaking a bit.

“It’s what was used to bring Coulson back to life after Loki killed him,” Skye says. “And me,” she adds in a whisper.

Now it’s my turn to have my jaw drop. “Loki killed you too?” I ask.

“Not Loki, no,” Skye says, shaking her head quickly. “But I kinda sorta died...until they gave me that GHB-25. It’s a crazy alien serum of some sort.”

“Would it, by any chance, be blue?” I ask, thinking of the color of the liquid in the tanks.

Skye shakes her head again. “Um...actually, I think it might have been blue, but I can’t really remember. I do remember we found it with some blue-skinned alien guy.”

“Like a Na’vi?” Peter asks.

“Kind of, ‘cept obviously it wasn’t, ‘cause Na’vi aren’t real. I think it was a Kree, actually. Like in  _Guardians of the Galaxy?_ ”

“Oh, so one of Ronan the Accuser’s people,” Peter says.

I make a “this is so over my head” gesture, having never seen  _Guardians of the Galaxy._  “So that’s another movie that’s real?” I ask.

“Uh-huh,” Skye says. “But...let me think about it...okay, you died, so undoubtedly, Ultron and Strange were giving you GHB-25 to bring you back to life. That would mean they also gave it to Tadashi, and to…” Her voice trails off, then she pounds her fist lightly on the table.

“What?” I ask, unsure of what I just heard.

“Did you say ‘Tadashi?’” Peter asks.

Skye ignores us both. “I gotta go talk to Coulson,” she says, getting up and grabbing her plate so she can bus it.

“You sure about that?” I ask. “Coulson and Strange seemed pretty chummy to me.”

“Strange only ever seems to talk to Coulson, so if anyone’s got answers, Coulson does.” Skye leaves the room, and Peter and I exchange confused glances.

“Great, more questions,” Peter says. “Just how many of us are supposed to be dead?”

“Me, and now Tadashi,” I say. “You think Hiro and the others know about that?”

“By ‘others,’ do you mean Honey and Go-Go and them?” Peter asks, making a small hand gesture towards the rest of the group. Honey, Go-Go, and Wasabi have joined them, while we continue to sit apart. I’m sure by now everyone’s wondering why we’re being so antisocial. Or why we’re looking all conspiratorial. Seriously, we must really be telegraphing the impression that we’re just sitting here, crafting increasingly bullshit theories about the rest of the team and whatever the hell our mission here is supposed to be.

“They sure don’t act like he’s been dead, so I’m gonna say no,” I say.

Peter shifts around uncomfortably in his seat. “But then Coulson was supposed to be dead too. And here we are, takin’ orders from the guy. And...a-and who else? Skye made it sound like-”

“Attention please!” Coulson’s voice rings out through the room from a small podium in the corner. Once everyone’s turned his way, he puts his hands together and says, “Thank you. Now, today we have two different tasks to complete, one of which is back in San Castiel. So half the team will head back there in the Bus, while the other half stays here for training.”

Peter looks at me and raises his eyebrow. I copy his gesture, because I have a sneaking suspicion of what Coulson is going to say next.

“Peter, Steve, Natasha, and Clint, you’ll be staying here today,” Coulson says. “Tony, Gwen, Tadashi, and Hiro, you’ll be going back to San Cas.” He pauses long enough for us to hear Tony smother a chuckle, probably at Coulson’s pretty stilted use of “San Cas.” “I’ll explain your mission when we’re in the air. Wheels up in twenty minutes, so I suggest you finish your food quickly and pack an overnight bag - we’ll be there at least through tomorrow morning.” Another pause, then Coulson adds, “Oh, and dress warm, if you can. It’s still gonna be dark there when we arrive, and I understand today’s gonna be pretty foggy too. Not warm and sunny like yesterday.” He steps down from the podium and leaves the room, but not before adding, “Skye, you’re in charge of the kids today. Start them up in the training center after we leave.”

“Got it, boss,” Skye says, adding a crisp salute as Coulson leaves at last.

“So now we’re gonna have to be workin’ separately again,” Peter mutters. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah, that really sucks,” I say. I’m starting to suspect that Coulson is on to Peter and me and our conspiracy theories, so he’s breaking us apart to make sure we can’t keep digging too deeply.

Skye comes up to Peter and tells him it’s time to go. “You didn’t talk to Coulson?” he asks before downing the last of his bacon.

“Oh, I did,” Skye says. “He wouldn’t actually say anything to me, but he did slip me this.” She pulls a small object out of her pocket. A perfectly ordinary-looking, matte-black flash drive. “So, my idea is, at least pretend to train for an hour or two, then we can take a look at what’s on here. Sound like a plan, Peter?”

Peter looks back at Skye. I see a flash of apprehension cross his face, but he buries that pretty quickly, rearranging his expression into something more neutral. “Y-Yeah. Good idea.”

Skye turns around and goes to gather the rest of the troops. Meanwhile, I turn to Peter and say, “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go.”

“I guess, yeah.” Peter shrugs his shoulders, then gives me a hug. Before breaking away from me, he whispers, “Don’t let Coulson kill you, okay?”

I snicker loudly. “He wouldn’t kill someone else who’d come back from the dead. Especially if, like him, they’re a good guy.”

Peter laughs out loud, then kisses me twice - once on the lips, and again on the right cheek. I always liked being kissed there, for some reason, and it looks like being dead hasn’t taken that away from me. I feel the blood racing to that spot on my face, and a warm, fuzzy rush throughout my whole body.

“Bye, Peter,” I say.

“Bye, Gwen.” He waves to me, then salutes me goodbye as well. I can see his eyes starting to tear up just a bit as he does so.

Twenty minutes later, I board the Bus, barely managing to get on before Coulson closes the hatch. I turn around and, in the final seconds before we take off, I see Peter and the others looking at us, all waving goodbye.

Even long after the hatch is closed and the Bus is in the air, I can’t shake the foreboding feeling that I’ll never see Peter again. I’m no stranger to that feeling, either - I used to have it all the time, knowing that Peter would go out and do his crime-fighting, vigilante-superhero thing every single day. And even before that, when my dad was alive - my dad in New York, not in San Castiel - I would always fear the worst every day, because of the high-risk nature of his job as a cop. Especially since, despite being a captain (which was ostensibly a desk job), he would always be out in the field. My dad was always a man of action.

It’s so strange, having that feeling once again, when this time, I’m the one going into something with at least a medium level of danger.

Once we’re all upstairs, Coulson gathers us in the media room where we saw  _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_  yesterday. “Okay, kids,” he says. “Today, we need to collect our remaining comrades. Here are our objectives.” He puts up a number of photos on the screen, each one of a different Augustine High ID card. One is for Thor Odinsson, another for Pepper Potts (I still find it hard to believe her real first name is Virginia.) For the other two, I don’t recognize their names, but I do remember their faces from my dream. Margaret Carter is the brunette, and the black-haired girl is Sif Surtsdottír.

Before Coulson can say any more, however, we pass through the warp gate, going back to the other world.

That’s when the plane trembles as something strikes it. “Oh no,” Coulson whispers. “That’s not good.”

“You don’t think we clipped that portal, do you?” Tony asks.

“No way,” says Hiro. “May’s too good a pilot for that?”

“Who’s May?” I ask.

Before anyone can answer my question, something starts pounding on the window from outside. I see the end of a black, curved object being smashed into the Plexiglas repeatedly. At first, I have no idea what it could be - but then I see a bony, gray-skinned hand attached to it.

It’s a Dark Elf trying to bust its way into the plane.

Coulson runs into the corridor and curses furiously as he sees more Dark Elves swarming over one of the wings. “Shit, they’re everywhere!” he yells. He hits an intercom button on a nearby wall and says, “May, evasive maneuvers, now!”

“ _I’m already trying that,_ ” says a woman’s voice, “ _but they’ve got a craft of their own, and I can’t outrun it!”_

Coulson goes back to the window, and all the blood drains from his face as he looks through it. He’s not the only one - mine does too as I look and see a huge blade slicing through the air, cutting off a good half of the starboard wing.

“NO!” Coulson yells, pounding the window in frustration. He turns to me, Tony, and the Hamada brothers and says, “Everyone back in the media room! Buckle up and brace for impact!” Alarms are going off everywhere as we follow his orders. “How much time do we have, May?” he yells into the intercom once we’re all inside.

“ _Thirty seconds!_ ” May calls back. “ _I’ll send out a Mayday!_ ”

“Copy that!” Coulson leaves the intercom, then takes a seat, putting his head between his knees like the rest of us.

With the Bus now banking down towards the ground at a sharp angle, there’s only one thought racing through my mind, as opposed to the whole “life-flashing-before-my-eyes” thing.  _I should’ve told Peter I love him._

Thirty seconds later, exactly as May predicted, the Bus hits the ground. Everything vibrates like the worst earthquake in history. The light bulbs fall out of the ceiling, hanging by only a couple of wires each, spitting out small sparks. Then the Bus starts rolling uncontrollably. We must have hit a mountain or something, and are now on a one-way course down the slopes with no brakes.

It takes only a few revolutions of the plane doing its spin-cycle routine before I become extremely dizzy. Next thing I know, I’m blacking out, the remains of the Bus continuing to roll even as I lose consciousness.


	13. Just A Taste Of What You've Paid For

*****PETER*****

After the Bus takes off, Skye leads me, Barton, Natasha, and Rogers to the barracks, where she instructs us to change into clothes more suitable for working out. Once that’s done, she takes us to a room full of exercise equipment. Speedbags, free weights, barbells for bench pressing. That sort of thing.

“Okay,” Skye says, sitting on a bench and grabbing a pair of ten-pound dumbbells. “Well, honestly, I have no idea what to make you guys do here. I don’t know what Coulson had in mind, so I guess you guys can all just, I dunno, do what I’m doing?”

“You mean work out?” Rogers asks. “‘Cause if that’s what we’re here for, I’m gonna use some more impressive equipment.” He picks up some huge weights - fifty, seventy-five pounds - and slides them into place on a barbell.

“You want I should spot you?” Barton jokes.

“No way,” Natasha laughs. “He should be spottin’ us. Nobody else around here could lift that much. ‘Cept maybe Peter.”

I laugh at Natasha, then do a ludicrous Charles Atlas muscle-man routine. The one thing I can’t really do, however, is flex my pecs. They’re not nonexistent or anything, but I’ve just never figured out how to pop them out the way you see all those big strong dudes like Dwayne Johnson doing in movies all the time.

While Barton and Natasha go off and spot Rogers together, I join Skye, picking out a pair of weights for myself. The ten-pound ones are a little light for me, so I go up to twenty. Trying to remember the various biceps/triceps-related stuff they taught me in gym class - which I haven’t taken since sophomore year, even when I was in New York - I turn to Skye and ask, “So what are you gonna do with that flash drive, then?”

“I’m gonna use it after we’re done here,” she says, lifting one arm at a time. “Which I guess I can decide when that will be, since I’m supposed to be the leader here. I guess, um, ten minutes from now?”

“You’re the boss, boss,” I say, raising one weight over my head and grabbing it with both hands while I lower it. Once the other end, the one hanging freely, draws level with the middle of my back, I start to lift it again.

Skye snickers as she continues her routine. “Ten minutes. That’s not much for me. I usually have at least thirty each morning. Of course, it used to be more like forty-five, but ever since I learned about my powers, Coulson insisted I put a little more focus on learning those.”

“You have powers too?” I ask. “Will wonders never cease?”

“Let’s just say if I were to ever use them, I’d really rock your world, and leave it at that,” Skye chuckles.

I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively. “A word of advice, Skye - don’t ever say things like that in front of a teenage boy. You might give him ideas.”

“Oh, trust me, I know all about those ideas,” Skye says, winking at me.

I turn to look at the others for a moment. Barton and Natasha are laughing their heads off as they watch Rogers bench-press - is it 200 pounds? I count the weights - it’s actually 250. Either way, it’s very impressive. I could probably only do 150 on a good day - but then, I didn’t know until yesterday about my Spidey-powers. I’m tempted to join the others and find out how much potential I really have, but I have a few more questions to ask Skye first.

For instance: “Skye, um, do you...do you know how long we’ve all been in San Castiel?”

“I think it’s been about a year,” she says. “It made the news sometime around Easter, which was really late last year-”

“April 20th,” I say.

“Good memory,” Skye says. “Yeah, I think that was the week it happened. You probably would have been on spring break, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “And that’s also when the whole Loki-gate thing went down.”

“I don’t think I was there to see that,” Skye says thoughtfully. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Natasha coming our way. “What happened?”

“It’s, uh…” I glance over at Natasha for a split second. “Well, I don’t really think it’s my place to talk about, you know?”

“Talk about what?” Natasha asks.

“Whatever happened with Loki and Clint,” Skye says. I shoot her a glare, but she just shrugs at me in response.

“You don’t know?” Natasha asks, sitting on one of the weightlifting machines and setting it up so she can lift three metal blocks on its pulley system. (I really should learn the official terminology for these things - I must sound like such an ignoramus, the way I’ve just described the machine.)

“I wasn’t there to see it,” Skye says. “And Peter doesn’t really think it’s his business - which is funny, since it’s his best friend we’re talkin’ about.”

“I didn’t say that-”

“That’s all right, Petey,” Barton says, crossing the room with Rogers following closely behind him. “I’ll tell the story myself. You guys don’t need to hang around if you don’t wanna, since everyone but Skye already knows-”

“It’s okay,” Rogers says. “We’ll listen to you.”

“You have the floor, dude,” I say with a flourish.

“Thanks,” Barton says, standing in the center of the little circle we’re all forming. “Okay, so by now, Skye, you probably know that I’m Natasha’s boyfriend, right?”

“Right.”

“Which is a bit of a weird combination, don’t you think?” Barton asks. “Me, the journalism student, and Natasha, the volleyball champ. We don’t seem all that compatible, do we? Well, if it weren’t for Loki, we probably wouldn’t have gotten together to begin with.”

“Oh really?” Skye asks. “Why is that?”

Barton rubs his nose. “Okay, the weird thing is, I’m still not sure where and how he learned to do it - but he did, somehow. This is what happened - he catfished me.”

“Are you serious?” Skye asks. She’s got her face contorted in a really weird way. I can’t tell if she’s trying not to laugh or trying to drop a ten-pound shit.

“He pretended he was Natasha, and he approached me in a Facebook chat, then told me she...uh, I mean,  _he_  was deeply in love with me,” Barton says with a harsh laugh.

“Holy no way,” Skye says. She’s really, desperately trying not to laugh now. Even Barton can’t help but have a chuckle too. I guess that’s a good thing - he may still be pissed at Loki for what he did, but enough time has passed that he’s now able to see the funny side of the whole situation.

“And so he spent all the last year in some rehab facility after he got found out,” Barton says. “I mean, between the fact that he humiliated me so badly I was almost driven to suicide, and the fact that the Odinsson parents aren’t exactly LGBT-friendly types…”

As Barton’s voice trails off, Skye finally stops herself from laughing. “You almost killed yourself?”

“Not publicly,” Barton says. “So most people still aren’t aware of it. But still...I mean, if I hadn’t called Parker, I probably would have done it, you know?”

I walk over to Barton and lay my hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, and then Natasha went and read all the chats I’d had with ‘her,’” Barton continues. “‘Cause Loki put ‘em all up online. When he was done cyber-suckin’ me dry, I guess.”

“And I really loved the things he said about me,” Natasha pipes up. “Even though he wasn’t actually talkin’ to me, but it’s the thought that counts. Wait, is that really the right thing to say?”

“It’s good enough for me,” Barton says with a shrug. He then moves away from me so he can give Natasha a hug.

“At least the story had a happy ending,” Skye says. “Sweetness and lollipops and-”

“Skye! Skye, you in here?” It’s Hunter, the Brit - and he looks really sweaty, like he’s run a mile just to get here.

“Hunter? What’s up?”

Hunter takes a moment to catch his breath, leaning against a treadmill. “Skye...we’ve lost contact with Coulson and his team.”

“What?”

“Yeah, there was a Mayday broadcast through the portal for about half a minute, but then it stopped,” Hunter says.

I jump to my feet. “Are we gonna go after them?”

“Of course,” Hunter says. “Gear up, kids. We’re takin’ the quinjet.”

The next ten minutes are all a blur to me. All I really remember is racing to the barracks, getting dressed - regular threads over the Spider-Man suit - and then tearing on over to the hangar, where the small, sleek quinjet awaits us.

As Hunter pilots the quinjet out of the building, I hang on tightly to the armrest of my seat. I don’t normally get airsick or carsick or anything like that, but with the way I’m worrying about Gwen and the others, I think that might change before this jet ride is over.

A thought bursts into my head, and I ask Skye, “Did they have Baymax with them?”

“Tadashi and Hiro always take Baymax wherever they go,” Skye says. “So if any of them are still alive, they’re probably bein’ well cared for.”

I nod wordlessly, trying not to think about what may have happened to require Baymax to activate. I’m praying that Gwen is still alive. I don’t want to go through the pain of losing her all over again.

An hour later, we’re through the portal. Hunter tells us that he’s seeing some nasty plane wreckage on the side of a mountain somewhere about twenty miles to the west. He takes the quinjet down to the site of the wreck, landing it expertly on the slopes.

I’m the first one out. I quickly button my jacket to ward off the chill - being up in the mountains, there’s a little bit of snow on the ground. I run to the nearest piece of Bus wreckage, a huge cylindrical chunk of the fuselage.

Baymax is active, as I expected. He’s tending to Gwen, Tadashi, Stark, Hiro, and an Asian woman I don’t know - she must be the pilot. All of them are unconscious - or, in the woman’s case, barely conscious.

Naturally, the first one I check on is Gwen. She’s got her arm in a splint, and I can sort of see the point where the bones have broken. My breath hitches, and I run to her side, kneeling next to her. “Gwen? Gwen, wake up. Wake up, please-”

I stop talking as I hear the faint crunch of feet on snow behind me. It can’t be Skye or any of the others - I was so impatient to get out of the quinjet, I think I set off the alarm by opening the hatch before the plane came to a complete stop. So they’re way too far behind me.

I spin around and see another familiar face. Well, not actually his face - just his mask.

“Deadpool?” I rub my eyes in disbelief. “What the...how...did you do this?”

“Credit where credit is due, Bug Boy,” Deadpool snarks at me. “That’s what your girlfriend calls you, right?”

“Did you do this?” I yell.

“Hell no,” Deadpool says smoothly. “It was those goddamn Dark Elves again. They’re friggin’ everywhere. Now get outta the way - I gotta do something that adorable medical bot wouldn’t do.”

“What are you gonna do?” I say apprehensively.

“You’re not gonna like it, trust me,” Deadpool says. “But it’s gonna keep all these people alive.”

“Why? Just ‘cause you’re gonna do it and you’re never wrong or some shit like that?”

“I’m not hardly wrong, kid,” Deadpool says, pushing me aside and taking my place next to Gwen. “I’m all wrong in all the right ways. Pink wrote that song for me...oh, but I already told you about that.”

He takes a knife out of a sheath on his belt, then cuts through Gwen’s sleeve and leaves a small slash on her arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” I scream, running at Deadpool and pushing him, almost making him fall on top of Tadashi. “Get the hell away from her!”

“I may be all wrong, but I was right about one thing,” Deadpool says. I can almost see him glaring at me through his mask. “You weren’t gonna like this.” He scrambles back over to Gwen and cuts his own arm, then links his arm with hers so that their wounds touch. “By the way,” he says, “I swear to whatever God you believe in, I’m not gettin’ off on this. Just FYI.”

I can’t even say anything. I’m too shocked by what I’m seeing. Does he seriously think it’s going to help Gwen if he does this crude blood-exchange thing...wait a minute, is Gwen’s arm healing? Sure enough, as I look at it, I can’t even see the break anymore. Her arm is perfectly straight now.

“Done,” Deadpool says, pulling his arm away and wiping the blood off his arm. I can see that his cut is no longer there, and neither is Gwen’s. “I actually kinda forgot how cool this was. The last time I did this, it was for you. And you looked like you wanted to kiss me after, you were so grateful for me savin’ your life.”

“That’s disgusting,” I say. “Not to mention bullshit.”

“Oh, but you haven’t remembered that day yet?” Deadpool asks in a higher-than-normal, would-be innocent voice. “Yeah, probably ‘cause that’s something that’s not gonna get released as a movie. It’s too bad, but different studios own the rights to us, so as it stands right now, we can’t meet on screen. Which really sucks, ‘cause the only ones I get to work with are the friggin’ X-Men.”

I automatically check my own arm to see if there’s a scar there like what Deadpool’s left on Gwen’s...but now that I look at Gwen again, her skin is intact. Although the sleeve of her jacket is not - it’s been cut open, and there’s bloodstains around the edges of that slash. Hers and Deadpool’s, mixed. She’ll have to burn that jacket ASAP.

“But thank God I’m a universal donor,” Deadpool says, hopping over to Tadashi’s side and giving him the same treatment he gave Gwen. “Otherwise I wouldn’t get to share my super-duper healing skills with just anyone.”

I look down as Gwen stirs softly at my feet. Taking a knee once again, I grab her hand as she finally wakes up. “Thank God,” I whisper.

“You really came all this way for me?” Gwen laughs. “Please tell me you didn’t come alone. Those Dark Elves might still be around, you know.” She looks down at her arm. “Huh. I thought I broke this. I guess Baymax-”

“Not Baymax,” I say, pointing to Deadpool.

Gwen looks over at him just as he finishes Tadashi’s improvised blood transfusion. “Ugh, seriously?” she groans. “He did that to me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Deadpool says snidely. “Next time, sweet cheeks, you’ll know you have the option to refuse treatment. It’ll require fillin’ out a shit-ton of paperwork, though. Which I’m usually too lazy to file.”

Gwen rolls her eyes to the heavens, then slowly levers herself into a standing position. She uses me as a sort of crutch until she’s completely on her feet, then she unwraps the splint from her arm. When she sees the blood on her sleeve, she pulls her hoodie off in revulsion, prompting me to put my jacket on her.

“Aren’t you gonna be cold, though?” Gwen asks, waving her arms a bit - the sleeves of my jacket are too long for her.

“Nah, not with my suit on,” I laugh, even though I’m shivering like hell.

“ _I will gladly provide you with some heat if you need it,_ ” Baymax says, waddling over to us. I can see a faint reddish glow in his center - this must be the heater function I’d heard the others talking about.

“I think we definitely need it,” I say, stepping aside so Gwen can take the first crack at it. I join her a couple of seconds later, sighing contentedly along with her as the warmth of Baymax’s heater seeps into our bodies.

I can tell you one thing - if I ever have enough of hugging this adorable marshmallow man, the world might as well come to an end.


	14. Strange Love, Strange Highs And Strange Lows

***PETER***

“All right, who’s next?” Deadpool says, looking around at the rest of the people he has yet to revive. “Little Hiro, then,” he says, stepping over and rolling up Hiro’s sleeve. “I’ll save the legendary Cavalry for last. I hear that, not unlike yours truly, she’s a firm believer in shooting first and asking questions never.” He punctuates this last statement by casually raising his gun one-handed, pointing it behind himself, and shooting down a solitary Dark Elf trying to climb into the plane wreckage from above.

Tadashi, meanwhile, stirs for a second before sitting up. “Oh my God,” he says. “Is everyone okay? Where is…” He turns and sees Deadpool cutting Hiro’s arm, and his reaction is pretty much the same as when I’d seen him cut Gwen. He even asks the exact same question - “What the hell are you doing?” - and I don’t blame him. No one wants to see someone they love unwillingly suffer bodily harm, even if it’s for a good reason.

On the other side of Baymax, I see Skye and the others coming in at last. Skye has her Night-Night Gun drawn, and she’s not willing to put it away just yet as she sees Deadpool. “All right, what gives?” she asks. “Deadpool, have you been-”

“I assure you, sweetheart, I didn’t bring this plane down,” Deadpool says, finishing up with Hiro and moving on to Stark. “Luckily, I happened to be in the area.”

“Yeah, luckily,” Skye says, her voice dripping with snark. Actually, not so much “dripping.” Try “gushing.” No, that’s too cute a way to describe it. “Overflowing.” That’s more like it. Her cup runneth over with raw sarcasm.

“Unbelievable,” Tadashi groans, doing a facepalm. “Is no one gonna answer my question? What the hell is this guy doing?”

“I’ll explain it, but only ‘cause I enjoy the sound of my own voice so much,” Deadpool says. “I’m usin’ my super-duper-healing powers to bring you guys back from death’s door. You’re welcome.” He finishes up with Stark, then goes to the Asian woman.

“Wait a minute,” I say, finally realizing who’s missing from this little scene. “Where’s Coulson?”

“I don’t see him either,” Skye says, her tone switching from sarcastic to concerned. “You think he’s in another part of the Bus?”

“No duh,” says Deadpool. “Otherwise I’d have revived him by now.”

“Well, then hurry up with May so we can go find him!” Skye yells.

“One good deed at a time, my dear Inhuman,” Deadpool says. “Sheesh, bein’ an all-out good guy for once is such hard - ack!”

He finally stops speaking when the Asian woman wakes up before he can revive her and immediately grabs him by the arm with what looks like a very viselike grip.

“What do you think you’re doing, Deadpool?” she asks in a menacing voice.

“Come on, May, let him do what he wants this time,” Skye says. “Unless you wanna prove to us that you can still fight on a broken leg?”

I look down and see that May does, in fact, have a broken leg. It’s even worse than Gwen’s arm had been - I can actually see blood soaking through the splinted-up bandages over her pants (presumably put there by Baymax.)

“Exactly how badass do you think I am?” May asks wryly.

“Peter, I’m sensing that you’re feeling mild nausea,” Baymax pipes up, his head turning to face me, his eyes blinking twice. “Would you like me to fetch some-”

“No, no, I-I’m good, Baymax, thanks.”

Gwen pulls away from Baymax and lets out a soft chuckle. “Peter, you don’t have to be all stoic for me, you know. Trust me, I’ve seen you get emotional enough times.”

“I-It’s not for you,” I laugh. “I really don’t need anything. I’m not that sick.”

“Says you.” Gwen pokes my nose. Being warmed up by Baymax, combined with whatever endorphins her body was flooded with after her injury, is clearly doing wonders for her mood.

“Are you gonna do the thing, then?” May asks Deadpool. “Or do I have to get a wire transfer at the nearest blood bank?”

“I dunno,” Deadpool says with a shrug. “I’m kinda wonderin’ if the legendary Cavalry can actually shoot a Dark Elf with a broken leg.”

For some reason, I’m hearing a song in my head. Strange love, strange highs and strange lows. Strange love, that’s how my love goes…

I know that song - it’s from Depeche Mode - but it sounds different from normal. It’s not the original album version. Instead, it sounds like someone auditioning for American Idol. Just an unaccompanied, a capella voice. A voice that sounds a little like Stark’s, actually - medium pitch, a bit on the husky side. But I’ve seen YouTube videos of Stark killing OneRepublic through karaoke. This voice, while far from that of a professional, is way too talented to be Stark’s.

Strange love, the voice continues. I look at Stark - he’s still trying to wake up, but he’s pretty lethargic. He’s in no condition to sing - unless I’ve developed telepathy? Will you give it to me? Will you take the pain I will give to you-

Who’s that? I finally hear my own thoughts in my head. Who else is out there?

Oh, sorry. Yeah, that’s definitely not Stark I’m hearing. Wrong head. My bad. Okay, um…

Next thing I know, Deadpool covers his ears. “Oh my God, what is wrong with you?” he yells to the air. “All right, all right, I’ll do it! Just make it stop, goddammit!”

“What is it?” May asks. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the friggin’ writer!” Deadpool groans, pricking his and May’s arms and letting their blood mix. “Every time I try to go off program, he gets into my head and starts singin’ shit songs!”

“What do you mean?” I ask before I can stop myself. “You don’t like Depeche Mode? You serious?”

Deadpool pulls his arm away from May’s, then walks up to me. “How’d you know it was...oh. Oh my God. Oh my God!” He starts guffawing, then sinks to his knees, helpless and unable to stop himself from splitting his sides. “I didn’t...I didn’t think it was contagious!”

“What are you talkin’ about?” I ask warily.

“The infamous Deadpool madness, buddy!” Deadpool redoubles his laughter until he’s gasping for breath, at which point he takes off his mask, allowing me (and everyone else but Skye and May) to see his face for the first time. He’s a pretty handsome dude, with a chiseled, stubble-covered face and short but spiky hair. I can almost see why he insists on wearing the mask at all times - his face is pretty easy to remember.

“Nonsense,” Skye says. “Deadpool Syndrome isn’t contagious. What mental illness is?”

“Toxoplasmosis?” suggests Barton.

“Wait, are you talkin’ about that parasite that’s found in cats’ brains?” Gwen asks.

“Does that even count as a mental illness?” asks Tadashi.

“I do not count it as such myself,” Baymax says.

“Whatever,” Deadpool says, waving his hand. “Me, I’m thinkin’ the writer got into your head for a second by mistake. And seeing how pissed off he’s become in...wherever his world is, I’m not surprised.”

“You’re tellin’ us we’re all at the mercy of a pissed-off writer?” Stark asks, raising his eyebrows.

Deadpool looks around and catches sight of another Dark Elf approaching, then picks it off at an astonishing distance with his gun. “Not pissed off at you guys, don’t worry. He loves you guys. He hates the studios that make your movies, though. Mostly because of what they’re planning to do to you especially, Spidey.”

“What are they gonna do to me?” I ask, my stomach starting to churn.

“Let’s just say they don’t think you’re good enough to play Spidey anymore, but the writer does,” Deadpool says. “And I agree - I never got to work with the old Spidey, but you’re infinitely better. Not only are you more eye-candy-ish, but you’ve got a better sense of humor, sharper wit - I love sharp wit, don’t you?” he asks, reaching back to one of the swords strapped to his back and stroking the scabbard with his thumb. “Oh, oh, and did I forget to mention he thinks you and Gwen are the cutest couple he’s ever seen but didn’t create on his own?”

I look over to Gwen, then we both avert our gazes from each other. I bet she’s blushing just as much as I am. It’s really making my face sting in the cold.

“As far as I’m concerned, you, Peter, are Spider-Man,” Deadpool says. “And I’m not just sayin’ that ‘cause that’s the writer’s opinion - it was mine too long before he got into my head. But why do you think the writer’s makin’ up this little adventure for you? He’s creatin’ his own universe where you get to continue doing whatever the hell a spider can, no matter what the damn movie studios think.” He changes the clip in his gun, then moves on out into the snow. “All right, where’s the boss? I need to see if he needs fixing too.”

“Um…” Gwen looks out over the icy landscape. “Um, there’s another big chunk of plane up there.” She points to another piece of wreckage, maybe a hundred yards uphill.

Deadpool takes off running. Every so often, he stops just long enough to shoot another Dark Elf. This time, the Elves seem to have a lot more trouble recovering from being shot. “I switched to silver bullets on this one,” he’s quick to explain to me and Rogers - we’re the only ones able to keep up with him. “Much more effective against supernatural threats. Doctor Strange taught me that.”

“You know Doctor Strange?” Rogers asks.

“Unfortunately,” Deadpool says. “He insisted on takin’ some of my blood for his latest experiment. Yeah, yeah, I know I can heal super-fast and shit, but it’s no fun havin’ your blood get taken, even if you do have superpowers and can handle the pain.”

We reach the other remnant of the Bus and start searching for Coulson. It takes a while, but eventually I find him buried under a seat. And not just one seat - it’s one of those big long rows of seats, like the old ones they took out of the Augustine High theater a few months ago. My English teacher got one of those rows and now has it installed in the far corner of the room, mostly as a decorative piece.

The first thing I think is, How can he possibly survive that? And considering Coulson’s already known to have died once, I don’t think whoever’s supposed to be in charge of the afterlife - Saint Peter, Hades, what have you - would be quite so keen to let him come back to life again. But that’s not to say we shouldn’t try.

Fighting a rising sense of dread, I lift the entire row off Coulson’s body without even breaking a sweat, but trying to carry it away is another matter, because its size makes it very unwieldy. Rogers helps me out with that while Deadpool goes and does his blood thing with Coulson. Meanwhile, the others start piling in - I notice Hiro and Tadashi tugging Baymax along to make sure he doesn’t go as slow as he usually does.

“I am detecting no life signs from Agent Coulson,” Baymax says when he finally comes in. I hear sharp intakes of breath from everyone else in the room, except Deadpool. “Are you sure his treatment is working?”

Deadpool looks up, keeping his arm and Coulson’s linked. “It, uh, could be that we got to him too late,” he says. “There’s only so much I can do. Maybe if Doctor Strange were here...along with that freaky alien shit he combined my blood with-”

“No,” Skye says. She’s trying to sound firm, but I can see her lips trembling. “No more. GHB-25 is off the table. Coulson told me so after the last time.”

Deadpool gnashes his teeth, then launches into a litany of foul swear words. “Goddammit,” he grumbles when he’s finally done muttering nasties to himself. “And I still owed him an overpriced steak dinner, too. Who’s gonna collect on that debt now?”

Ignoring Deadpool's (relatively low-key) outburst, May nods in agreement with Skye. “I guess that puts me in charge, then,” she says, her voice a bit tighter than usual. “Are we gonna continue on to San Castiel? Skye, do we have transport?”

“Yeah, we came in the quinjet,” Skye says. She then puts her hand over her mouth while she looks down at Coulson’s lifeless body.

I do the same thing as Deadpool finally lets him go long enough to fetch a blanket and cover him with it. I didn’t know him for even twenty-four hours, and in that time, I’d already come to suspect he wasn’t trustworthy - even though he professed to being a good guy. But still, I’m finding myself choking up a bit.

And then I stiffen as I sense something stirring under another fallen row of seats. “Everyone down!” I yell. Everyone obeys, and it saves all of our lives when the previously-hidden Dark Elf can’t compensate for our change of position before it fires its arrow.

“I got this!” cries Deadpool. With a high, girlish scream, he leaps into the air and plucks a grenade from his belt, then pulls the pin. As soon as he lands in front of the Dark Elf, he stuffs the grenade into its mouth and then wraps himself around it in a bear hug.

The rest of us barely manage to get out of the way before the grenade goes off. Next thing I know, I’m looking inside this section of the Bus again, and the Dark Elf has been reduced to a headless corpse. Its blood and brains are staining the walls around it. Not to mention Deadpool, whose suit and face are covered in that foul gunk.

“Oh, great,” Deadpool groans, feeling his face. “I should’ve put my mask back on first. Oh, but at least I can still move my arms.” He reaches down to his lower back and starts pushing that part of his body experimentally. “Broken back, broken tailbone. Not to worry, I can fix that.” He turns to look at me. “Dude, don’t wait up for me!” he calls. “You guys do your mission, and I’ll catch up with you later! Right after I regain my ability to dance the Macarena!”

I can’t help but stop and stare. How the hell is Deadpool still as alive and chatty as ever?

“Didn’t you hear me?” he yells. “Go! I can take care of myself!”

I shuffle away, slowly at first, before running to catch up with the others. Before long, we’re back in the quinjet, on a course for San Castiel. I look out the window at the landscape below - the mountains quickly vanish, to be replaced with the vast deserts of Utah and Nevada.

Hey, don’t worry. The voice pops into my head, completely unbidden. You’re not crazy. Not in a bad way, anyway.

Are you the writer? I ask.

Duh.

What’s your name?

Not important. I can almost see him waving his hand the way Deadpool does. Oh, but I’m not like Deadpool. Well, kinda, sorta, but not really. I see more of you in myself. That’s why you’re the one tellin’ the story. You and Gwen, at least.

“You’re not at all like Gwen, I bet.”

“Who are you talkin’ to?”

I look up and see Gwen peering over the back of her seat at me. Did I say that out loud? Oh, bloody hell, I think, dropping my head into my hands.


	15. This Is No Apocalypse

*****GWEN*****

“Peter, are you all right?” I ask, even though I suspect the answer to that question is going to be negative.

Peter raises his head, looking worried. “I don’t think so. I think I’m hearing the same voices Deadpool’s been getting.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because that’s what the voice is telling me,” Peter says. “Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. If you don’t believe me, I don’t blame you. I hardly believe it myself.”

I edge closer to Peter and take his hand, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. I’ve remembered him doing that to me a couple of times when I was feeling down, and I figure, why not return the favor?

“Is it any less believable than everything else that’s been going on?” I ask. “Or any more unsettling?”

“I know,” Peter says, “but it’s worse for me because it’s my head being screwed around with.”

I look around and see Clint approaching. “What’s going on?” he asks as he takes a seat on Peter’s other side.

Peter slumps in his seat, pulling my hand down a bit with him. “I, uh…” I half-expect him to add, “Now I’m starting to hear a voice in my head.” But he doesn’t. He must not want the others to worry about him. So I resist the temptation to tell Clint myself, especially when Peter finally speaks up again. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You sure?” Clint asks. “‘Cause if I know you, usually when you don’t wanna talk about something, you mean just the opposite.”

“I think you’re talking about yourself more than me,” Peter says.

“It’s you too,” Clint says. “Why else are we best friends? Besides our similar tastes in music and movies and shit.”

Peter and I both laugh along with Clint. “How long until we land?” I ask.

“I dunno,” Clint says. “Skye, how long until we land?”

“I dunno,” Skye says. She presses a nearby intercom button and asks, “May, how long until we land?”

“ _T-minus three minutes, fifty-six seconds_ _,_ ” May says. I smother a laugh - does she have to sound like a robotic NASA mission controller?

Exactly three minutes and fifty-six seconds later, the quinjet lands on the SFO runway and taxis into the same hangar used by the Bus yesterday. “Does SHIELD pay for this or something?” I ask.

“Coulson would have been able to answer that question,” Skye says with a frown. “Ever since SHIELD fell, he was pretty much chief executive and financial officer of the whole organization.”

“What do you mean, SHIELD fell?” I ask.

“Are you talking about like in the new  _Captain America_  movie where there were Hydra sleepers?” Clint asks.

“Yeah, basically,” Skye says. “I don’t think they did a good job of really, truly capturing just how batshit crazy things got, though. In the movie, I mean.”

“Really now?” Steve asks. “I’m starting to remember some wild and crazy action after the fall of SHIELD. From my ‘movie,’ right?” He even throws in air quotes.

“Your movie was from your perspective as an Avenger, though,” Skye says. She pauses as May sends her an order to open the hatch, and she complies before continuing to talk. “As an agent, someone a little more stuck in the system - it was a nightmare.”

“‘Stuck in the system?’” I say. “That doesn’t sound like the way I’d expect you to describe yourself.”

Skye grins at me. “Before I joined SHIELD, I never expected I’d say that either.” She stands near the hatch and says, “Okay, now we’re just waiting for May to give us our orders. By now I’m sure she’s had time to read Coulson’s file on the mission parameters.”

“I bet that file was well-guarded, huh?” I ask. “Did May need you to help her hack in or something?”

“No, actually,” Skye says, looking more than a bit disappointed. “She has a special password she can use in case of emergency. Like, if Coulson is dead. Or otherwise unable to access his files.” Okay, maybe that’s not disappointment I’m reading on her face, then.

“Speaking of files,” Peter says, “we never got to look at your flash drive.”

“Then I’ll ask May if you and I can stay on the plane to take a look at it,” Skye says.

“Take a look at what?” asks May as she emerges from the cockpit.

Skye pulls the flash drive from her pocket. “It’s something Coulson gave me. It might have some important info about our mission.”

May nods curtly. “All right. Dammit, if only Fitz-Simmons were here...Peter, you and Tony can stay here and look at that drive with Skye. Same with the Hamadas. If you put all our science and technology-oriented minds together, you guys should have no trouble cracking that thing open.”

“All right,” Peter says. He and Tony follow Skye and take their seats beside Hiro and Tadashi while she puts the flash drive into a tablet.

May then takes a look outside. “Everyone else, come with me,” she says. “I’m gonna get us a rental car, since we don’t have our usual fleet with us.” She pauses, then lets out a sad laugh. “If Coulson were here right now, he’d be so pissed about Lola being wrecked in the Bus crash.”

“And we didn’t even get to see her fly,” Steve says, looking very disappointed.

As May leads the way towards the Rental Car Center, she turns around and asks, “Which of you would know where to find any of the others?”

Steve drums his fingers against his sides before answering. “I think Thor would be in San Castiel City Park,” he says. “He and Sif are gonna probably be playing baseball. It’s what they normally do on Saturdays.”

I hadn’t even realized today was Saturday. My God, this whole situation is even more insane than I thought.

“Remind me, who else are we looking for again?” asks Clint. “Thor, Sif, and…?”

“Pepper Potts and Maggie Carter,” I say. “Speaking of Pepper, shouldn’t we have Tony with us? He’d know where to find her better than any of the rest of us.”

“Maybe if we found Jane Foster first?” Natasha asks. “She’s clued in to where everyone hangs out.”

May nods. “Okay. Steve, I understand your car is still parked in the hangar, right? You can take Gwen and Natasha to find Jane Foster. But I’ll also need directions to San Castiel City Park. Can I have your phone for a sec?” Steve gives her his phone so she can program her number into it. “Just send me the directions on that number,” she says after returning his phone.

“All right, then,” Steve says, pocketing his phone. I wish I could do that with my own phone, but like most girls’ pants, what jeans I have (and I usually wear skirts) don’t have pockets big enough to fit anything more than a couple of pennies.

While Clint continues to accompany May to the Rental Car Center, Steve finds his Mustang parked a few yards from the quinjet. He pats his pockets for a second before finding the keys and firing up the ignition. Immediately, my ears are assaulted by a loud guitar riff - not the sort of music I’d expect Captain America to listen to. It almost sounds like something more suited to Peter, or perhaps Tony. Maybe not Tony, though - he’s much more into AC/DC. This isn’t quite as edgy as that.

“Whoops, sorry about that.” Steve blushes a bit before turning the volume down on his music. “I totally forgot I had that on. I’m such a dork sometimes, rocking out to Grouplove.”

“Never heard of it,” Natasha says, buckling up in the backseat.

“Maybe you’ve heard of this song, though,” Steve says, selecting a different track. Sure enough, the (much softer) song that starts to play is one that was on KFOG a lot about a year or two ago: “ _I didn’t ask for this, you gave me heart attacks…_ ”

“But I like this one better,” Steve says, turning back to the song he’d been playing before. I actually come to enjoy it as well on the drive to the Maguire Mall - according to Natasha, who’s busy checking the latest social-media updates, Jane Foster is currently at the Starbucks by Barnes & Noble with Mary Jane Watson. So we park near there and go into the bookstore.

Inside, I crane my neck and look in the direction of the in-store Starbucks. Jane and MJ are chatting at a table near the door leading into the mall itself.

“Anyone gonna tell me why we can’t just look up Pepper or Maggie’s geo-tagged Facebook updates?” Steve asks, scratching his head.

Natasha picks up a book from the stack next to us. It’s a new paperback edition of that Amy Poehler book - not something that I’d expect Natasha to be really interested in. Pretending to page through it just so it looks as if she’s got a reason to be here, she says, “Those two don’t use social networks at all. Ginny spends so much time working on spreading Tony’s news through his profiles that she barely has time to make her own-”

“You call her Ginny?” I ask.

“Why not?” Natasha says. “I always thought ‘Pepper’ was a dumb nickname. Then again, maybe it’s just ‘cause I can’t wear my ‘I’m a Pepper’ T-shirt without being accused of stealing her identity...but anyway, there’s that. And as for Maggie, she’s more tech-illiterate than my dad. I don’t even think she uses a smartphone.”

“Are these all things you learn from hanging out with the popular crowd?” I ask.

“Sort of,” Natasha says, putting the book down. “Even though I don’t hang out with the other cheerleaders or volleyball girls all that much anymore. Not since I started dating Clint. But I’m still following most of them on Facebook and Twitter, ‘cause I’ve got hundreds of friends there and I’m too lazy to clean out the ones who aren’t actually my friends.” She lets out a sharp laugh. “But at least it’s useful for knowing what the in-crowd is thinking. Believe it or not, they actually do seem to express concern when they’re not friends with all their classmates.”

“Only to try and peer-pressure them into accepting their friend requests, right?” Steve asks, his lips curling in disgust.

“This is why I just do my own thing,” I say. “And probably why I connected with Peter to begin with. If anyone’s mastered the art of doing their own thing, it’s Peter.”

Natasha stretches her arms over her head. I can’t fail to notice Steve surreptitiously sneaking peeks at her, especially when she takes a deep breath and her chest expands. “All right,” she says after a second. “Let’s go talk to them.”

We approach Jane, but it’s the redheaded MJ (not dark auburn like Natasha, but flaming Weasley red) who spots us first. “Oh, hi, guys,” she says brightly, waving us over. “Hey, Gwen, maybe you could enlighten us about what happened at the science fair yesterday. I heard Tony Stark kidnapped you and made you his personal love slave.” As I choke and splutter on my own spit in surprise, MJ bursts out laughing. “Hah, I’m just kidding. But seriously, what happened? Nobody has a clue.”

“Maybe later,” Natasha says, waving her hands.

“I know Peter Parker was there too,” MJ says. “Where is he, I wonder? His aunt and uncle are worried sick.”

“How do you know about-” I begin.

“I live next door to him,” MJ says.

Natasha clears her throat. “Sorry, MJ, but we’re here to talk to Jane, not you.”

MJ slumps in her seat. Jane, meanwhile, takes a sip of coffee, then brushes some of her long brown tresses over her shoulder. “How can I help?” she asks.

“Can you find Ginny Potts for us?” Natasha asks without preamble.

“You mean Pepper? What, with my hacking skills?” Jane asks, snickering. “I dunno about you, but if you really wanna see some magic done, talk to Tadashi Hamada.”

“He’s busy,” I say. “You’re the next-best thing, though.”

Jane folds her hands over her coffee cup. “I’m not gonna want to know what this is all about, am I?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Steve says, jamming his hands in his pockets. He may be a big guy, but because of the way he’s dressed - tight jeans, skater shoes, pseudo-military jacket, and even a blue beanie for good measure - he goes more unnoticed in this place than the rest of us. All he needs is a pair of hipster glasses and he’d be totally invisible. Maybe he could borrow the ones that used to belong to Peter’s dad - except those are real glasses. I’d gotten to try them on while on the way out of New York, and I’d been floored by how blurry my vision became while wearing them. I know that people trying on someone else’s glasses see the world as the other person would see it with the naked eye, but I’d never actually experienced that phenomenon before.

Jane sighs through her nose, then pulls up her smartphone. “It’s so much harder to do this on a phone versus an actual computer,” she says. “But I can get it done, sure. So you want me to ping the GPS on Ginny’s phone, right?”

Natasha cracks a smile at Jane’s use of Pepper’s more ordinary nickname, then nods her approval.

Jane thumbs her screen, then works away for a few minutes. Occasionally, I hear her curse under her breath, probably from making some mistake in her code. I can only imagine - I have enough trouble typing plain old garden-variety texts on my phone sometimes. From what I’ve seen of hacking and coding (most of which is from Michael Crichton novels, or the occasional flash of memory to my previous life as an Oscorp intern), it usually involves a lot of special characters that don’t normally appear on a smartphone’s digital keyboard, unless you highlight the right button and summon them.

Eventually, she gets the job done. “All right,” she says, squinting at her screen for a second. “Ginny’s at the Fry’s Electronics in Palmer City.” She shows us the screen to prove it, then wipes her findings away. A second later, after I hear the annoying bird-whistle that signals a new social-network update, Jane adds, “Oh, and look at that. She’s just tweeted on Tony Stark’s account - ‘I am not at Fry’s like I was supposed to be today with @PepperPotts.’”

“Someone’s got a nice sense of humor, I see,” Natasha says. “Thanks.”

Jane nods curtly, then returns to her coffee. Before we leave, MJ looks up again and says, “If you guys see Peter, tell him his aunt and uncle wanna talk to him ASAP.”

“Uh...okay,” I say. “Will do.”

“Thanks,” MJ says.

We spend the next ten minutes driving to Palmer City, the only town between San Castiel and San Fransokyo. The massive Fry’s store is located on a hillside just off 280. Steve finds a space in the multi-level parking garage in front of the store, then leads us inside.

“Okay, now where do we go from here?” Natasha asks. “Look at how big this place is. Ginny could be anywhere.”

I take out my phone and call Tony. “ _Hello, you’ve reached Tony Stark,_ ” his voice says. “ _I’m sorry I’m not available right now, but if you state your business after the beep-_ ”

“Nice try, Tony,” I say. “I can hear the others laughing in the background. I know this isn’t your voicemail.”

“ _All right, you got me._ ” Tony chuckles a few times, then asks, “ _What can I do you for?_ ”

With Tony not actually here, I instead aim a death glare at the nearest human face - which, in this case, is printed on the spine of a Blu-Ray of  _The Maze Runner._  The actor looks enough like Tony at a glance anyway.

“Ginny Potts...um, Pepper Potts...anyway, she just tweeted under your name that you were supposed to meet her in Palmer City today,” I say, looking around and seeing Steve and Natasha walking around doing the same thing. “What for?”

“ _Shit,_ ” Tony groans. “ _I was gonna get a new battery for my laptop._ ”

“You mean that machine you had Ultron on?”

“ _No, I mean my old laptop,_ ” Tony says. “ _It’s got the backup for Ultron on it. Oh shit...if she’s still there, she’s probably in the section where they sell new computers and stuff. You need to get her outta there right now! If Ultron gets into the Wi-Fi in there-_ ”

“Yeah, I get it,” I say. “Thanks.” I hang up and, after a few more seconds of looking around, spot a map of the store. I pinpoint the computer section and head over there right away.

Thankfully, Ginny (I’m actually finding it easier to call her that instead of Pepper now) is exactly where Tony said she would be. She’s got her strawberry-blonde hair down and is dressed in jeans and a slightly-faded “Down With The Capitol!” T-shirt - an unusual sight, because she’s very well-known for being very well-groomed.

“Gwen?” Ginny looks up and blinks in surprise, almost dropping the old laptop she’s got under her arm. “What are you doing here? I thought you were arrested by the CIA or something!”

“The rumors are flying thick and fast, aren’t they?” Steve asks, coming up behind me.

“It’s a long story,” I say. “But if you come with us, we’ll be able to tell you on the drive back to the plane.”

“Plane? Where? What?” Ginny looks so shocked and flustered.

“Excuse me, miss?” A store employee, an Indian man in a nice suit, walks up to Ginny with a small oblong object in hand. “I have that battery for you. If you’d like to test it out…?”

“Oh yes,” Ginny says. “I’m sorry, guys, but can it wait just a sec? I need to make sure this gets done for Tony.” She takes the battery and clicks it into place on the underside of Tony’s laptop.

“No!” I yell, trying to stop her, but it’s too late. She’s already turned the laptop on - and right away, the screen displays the all-too-familiar wavy line of Ultron’s speech program.

“ _Hello, world,_ ” Ultron says. “Watashi wa Ultron desu.”

“Wait...what?” Natasha asks. “I didn’t catch that last part.”

“I think it was Japanese,” I say.

“It was,” Ginny says. “Tony’s been learning Japanese, and he teaches Ultron whatever he learns. So-”

She’s interrupted by the sound of a song being played, one of those annoying, repetitive electronic songs of the type that are played at every pep rally or other school event. An Auto-Tuned voice starts singing in Japanese, too. And with every word (or perhaps every line - not being able to speak Japanese, I wouldn’t know), Ultron’s display appears on another machine in the nearest row of laptops on display.

“This isn’t supposed to happen!” Ginny cries, shutting down Tony’s laptop.

“Yeah, no kidding!” I yell over the loud robo-music.

“I’m serious!” Ginny yells back. “Tony said he was gonna make Ultron portable for the science fair demo, but this backup version doesn’t have that feature coded in yet!”

More laptops start singing in Japanese, and I turn to the employee. “We need to shut down the power and Wi-Fi in the store now!”

“What?” the employee asks, not sure if he heard me correctly.

“You see this?” Natasha says, gesturing at the haywire laptops. “This is a computer virus that’s gonna infect every device in this building if you don’t do what we say!”

“I, uh, I…”

“Just tell us where to shut off the power if you won’t do it yourself!” Steve yells.

The employee hems and haws for another moment, then clears his throat one last time before speaking up. “Okay, I got an idea. But it’s pretty risky. I’ll go ahead and do it myself, but-”

“Let us help you,” I say. “We need to make sure this works, whatever it is. Our phones could be infected too.”

“Not mine,” Steve says. “I don’t have Wi-Fi on mine.”

“Right,” I say. “Take us to the generator, or whatever.”

“It’s definitely a ‘whatever,’” the employee says. He runs out of the computer section and over to the middle of the store, where a large glass cage sits between the records and cameras. Inside is a massive Tesla coil, with a sign in front saying that the device does demonstrations every hour on the half-hour.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” the employee says with a grin on his face. “But you guys gotta run as soon as I turn this on. You don’t wanna be anywhere near here when this thing blows. Give me your phones so they get fried!”

Everyone but Steve hands off their phones. Ginny also gives the man Tony’s old laptop, which joins the phones inside the cage. The employee then closes the cage and throws a switch, not unlike in the old  _Frankenstein_  movies.

“Run!” he yells just as the Tesla coil starts to go off, making its distinctive and ominous sounds echo all around the building.

We barely get out the door by the time the overloading coil explodes, electrifying everything in the building and shattering the glass doors.


	16. Kono Botan Oseba, Ongaku Kanaderu

*****GWEN*****

Steve is the first one back on his feet. He offers Ginny a hand to help her up, and she takes it. Natasha and I, however, are able to get off the ground before Steve can give us the same assistance.

“Who knew a Tesla coil could pack that much of a punch?” Natasha mutters.

“I sure as hell didn’t,” Ginny says.

“No way that’s an ordinary Tesla coil,” I say. “From what I know of electricity, what we just saw...that should never have happened the way it did.”

“Ultron probably had something to do with it,” Steve says darkly. He takes his phone out of his pocket and presses some buttons repeatedly, to no avail. “Dammit, it’s fried,” he says, popping open the back to check the battery.

Just as Steve goes to toss the non-working shell that used to be his phone in the trash, I hear screaming from inside the store. Well, to be fair, there’s been people screaming already as they run for the exits. But now it’s even louder. And I can see why - as I peer through the space where the glass front door used to be, I can see people running down the central aisle, only to get knocked down by some unseen force. When the crowds have vanished, allowing me to get a better look, I can see that the fallen have not yet gotten up. Are they dead, or just unconscious? I can’t tell.

“Should we go in there and see what happened?” Steve asks.

“It’s risky,” I say. “Whatever took those people down might still be active.”

“What, you think it’s some kind of electromagnetic black hole or whatever from the Tesla coil?” Natasha asks, sounding skeptical.

“I don’t know what it is,” I say. “But I guess the only way we’ll be able to find out is if we go in and take a look ourselves.” I look around and see none of the others moving. “Come on, guys,” I urge them. “You’re superheroes. Or, at least, you used to be. But that shouldn’t matter-”

“‘Superheroes?’” Ginny repeats. “What are you talking about?”

I chuckle nervously, then Natasha says, “Well, I guess now might not be the best time to say it, but we’re all comic-book characters, apparently.”

“What?” Ginny refuses to believe it. “Is that why...oh my God. So all this” - she gestures to the inside of the store - “all this is comic-book stuff too?”

“Um...yeah.” Steve takes the opportunity to carefully step over the broken glass and back into the store.

“Hey, you can’t go in there!” The employee who turned the Tesla coil on - whose presence I’d almost completely forgotten - tries to stop Steve, but he gently pushes him away. “Come on, guys,” he says, beckoning us forward.

Natasha is the first to go back inside, followed by me, then Ginny. “What, so are we supposed to be the teenage Avengers or something?” she asks me. “I guess that would make me Black Widow. Unless she’s Black Widow?” She gestures at Natasha.

“I’m Black Widow, yeah,” Natasha says. “You, apparently, are Iron Man’s girlfriend.”

“What, you mean I’m supposed to be Billie Banks?” Ginny asks, scratching her head.

“No, you’re supposed to be Pepper Potts,” I say. “All the names in all the comic-book movies, they’re fake. We’re the real comic-book characters - they’re supposed to be us, with our names.”

“So...let me see if I can figure this out,” Ginny says as we slowly approach the group of fallen civilians. “I’m Iron Man’s girlfriend, Natasha is Black Widow...so who’s Steve? Iron Man?”

“Captain America, actually,” Steve says. “Iron Man is Tony Stark.”

“Huh,” Ginny says. “I guess that makes sense...wait, Tony’s my boyfriend? You serious? I mean, I like him, but not that much.” She turns to me and asks, “So what does that make you? A gender-swapped Thor?”

“Why, just ‘cause I’m blonde?” I say. “No. Thor is Thor.”

“Not Thor Odinsson?”

Before I can answer Ginny’s question, we reach the people on the floor. Steve bends down to examine the nearest one, and says, “I think he’s dead.”

I approach that same person and realize Steve must be right. There’s a huge cut in the back of his neck, and a small pool of blood gathering around him. It wasn’t visible to me at first, because it’s on the side of his neck that’s not facing me. That is, the back of his neck.

“What the hell did this?” I ask.

That question is answered when I hear a clunking sound coming from the direction of the wreckage of the Tesla coil. Rising out of the twisted metal, sparks falling away with every shuffling step it takes, is a misshapen metal humanoid. It looks like it’s been cobbled together from parts of different machines.

Steve and I exchange glances with the others, then he turns to the metal zombie and says, “Ultron?”

“Jibun de,” it says.

I blink rapidly. “All right, any of you guys speak Japanese?”

The Ultron-thing mimics my blinking, then tilts its head as if it’s confused. “Nani o itte iru? Kore wa eigodearu?” It shakes its head, then says in that all-too-familiar voice, “ _If you prefer, I could speak English._ ”

“Please do,” Natasha says.

Ginny approaches the metal man, prompting me to pull on her arm to try and stop her. “Are you crazy?” I say. “This thing just killed all those people!”

“We don’t know that,” Ginny says, pulling out of my grasp.

“How else do you explain why they’re all dead?” Steve says. “This thing must have summoned all those parts to build itself, and it must be the reason why all these people got cut up like they did.”

“Watashi wa kokoda,” Ultron says silkily. “ _Loose translation: ‘I’m right here, you know._ _’_ ”

“We can see that,” I say, staring down the aisle at Ultron as it continues to walk forward on its unsteady feet. When he comes to a stop next to an artificially-aged copper statue of Nikola Tesla (which stands right in front of the remains of his namesake device), I add, “What are you doing here, then? You’re not supposed to be here. Whatever you are.”

“ _Oh, aren’t I?_ ” Ultron asks. “ _In a world where people can think to download human consciousness into a stack of_ Purei Suteishon Fō, _anything is possible, is it not?_ ” He makes a throat-clearing noise, complete with the accompanying gesture of covering his mouth. “ _Excuse me if my English fails me. It’s not my first language._ ”

I look at Ginny. “This is really the Japanese-tutor version of Ultron?”

Ginny nods. “Uh-huh.”

“ _Ask me anything, and I will be happy to teach you,_ ” Ultron says.

“Great,” Natasha says. "We got an overeager robot to deal with now."

“ _Never mind,_ ” Ultron says. “ _I can see I’m speaking to the wrong persons. Do none of you speak Japanese?_ ”

I shake my head. “No, and I don’t think this is the right time-”

“ _I can teach you a song, at least,_ ” Ultron says. “ _English first, then Japanese._ ” And with that, the bouncy electronic song that had played on all the laptops earlier starts up again. This time, it seems to be coming from Ultron itself. It must have some speakers in its cobbled-together body somewhere. Soon, we can hear the singer start on the vocals, in accented English: “ _I’m the operator with my pocket calculator. I’m the operator with my pocket calculator._ ”

“Oh God, it’s even worse in English!” Natasha cries out, clapping her hands over her ears. I have to agree - although the repetitive lyrics make sense, given that most electronic music depends more on the sounds than the words.

“ _You’re not here to learn Japanese, then?_ ” Ultron asks, shutting the song off at last. Then it stiffens, and its head starts to twitch repeatedly. I can see the sparks coming off its body faster now.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ginny asks.

Ultron finally stops twitching, then relaxes. “ _Ah, that’s much better,_ ” it says. “ _I finally found my latest version and upgraded myself._ ”

“What? But how?” Ginny asks.

I hear a soft squeaking sound coming towards us. Looking to my left, I see Baymax walking through the store. “ _Oh no,_ ” he says as he comes up to the corpses and bends over one of them to scan it. “ _I am too late. There is nothing I can do for these poor humans._ ” He sounds so sad when he says that, too.

Meanwhile, I’m starting to realize what’s just happened. As Baymax came in, he carried with him whatever traces of Ultron are still in his system. The Ultron-monster must have picked up on those bits of code and gathered them up itself. I wonder if that means Baymax is now entirely Ultron-free. I certainly hope so.

Baymax stands up again, and I hear a cell-phone ringtone going off. But that’s impossible - all our phones have been destroyed. Then I see the display on Baymax’s chest, looking like a blown-up version of an iPhone’s “incoming call” screen as it shows Hiro’s name and photo.

“ _Aren’t you gonna take that call?_ ” Ultron asks. “ _It might be important._ ”

I can see now how Ultron must have been created by Tony. It’s really got his sarcastic tone down to a T.

Baymax pokes his chest, and Hiro’s photo disappears, to be replaced a split second later by a live video call. “ _Hey, guys,_ ” Hiro says. “ _Whoa, what the heck...and what is that?_ ” He points at Ultron, a shocked look on his face.

“ _Who are you?_ ” Ultron asks. “ _I don’t remember meeting you before._ ”

“ _Wait...is that Ultron’s voice?_ ” Hiro looks somewhere off to the side. “ _Yo, Stark, get over here! Your bot looks like he needs some emergency surgery!_ ”

“ _What?_ ” Tony comes into view, then gapes at what he’s seeing just like Hiro’s been doing. “ _Holy shit, what is that?_ ”

“ _I’ll just say this one more time - I’m Ultron._ ” Ultron crosses its arms. “ _I promise, eventually I’ll get back into the form under which you should be able to recognize me._ ”

“ _You mean the one Skye showed us earlier?_ ” Peter asks somewhere off-screen. Then I see him scootch in behind Hiro, with Tony to his right. (Well, more like my right - his face is on the left-hand side of the screen, which means Tony would be to his left.) “ _Whoa, look at this!_ ” he laughs. “ _I’m guessing you’re the factory reject?_ ”

“ _Lord, give me strength,_ ” Ultron groans, gazing skyward for a moment. “ _Deliver me from evil...and all these moronic comic-book movie characters._ ”

“ _Whoa, okay,_ ” Peter says, holding up his hands. “ _Sorry about that. I didn’t know you were so touchy._ ”

“Don’t start apologizing just yet,” I say. “He killed a bunch of people making that body for himself.”

“ _What? How?_ ”

Baymax looks down at the dead people again, prompting the boys to cry out in shock to a man. “ _How did that happen?_ ” asks Tony.

“ _I can’t help it if summoning my parts made them whiz through the air fast enough to sever people’s spinal cords,_ ” Ultron says, sounding almost petulant. “ _If I’d been able to see them, honestly, I wouldn’t have done this. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a killer. Not anymore, anyway._ ”

I hear a tiny metallic clinking noise coming from the floor. As I look down, I see Hiro’s little Megabot sneaking Ultron’s way. Did Baymax bring him along when he came here?

Then I see Hiro raise what looks like a video game controller on the bottom of Baymax’s chest screen. He pulls the sides of the controller apart, expanding it so it’s now keyboard-sized. Then he says, “ _Megabot, destroy!_ ”

Megabot jumps onto Ultron and starts attacking it at high speed. “ _What?_ ” Ultron asks, scratching its head in confusion. “ _What’s going on?_ ”

“ _You’re done, Ultron!_ ” Hiro says. “ _Stark, where would I get the memory chip on this guy?_ ”

“ _You asking me?_ ”

“ _It’s your design, isn’t it?_ ”

“ _Maybe the head?_ ” Peter asks.

“ _There’s nothing but industrial light and magic in his head,_ ” Tony says. “ _Um...I remember something about the heart. Unless that was my heart, with the arc reactor…?_ ”

Hiro stops controlling Megabot long enough for Ultron to swat it away. Megabot moves across the tiled floor about half a foot before colliding with the base of the Tesla statue and breaking apart. However, after tapping a few more buttons, Hiro is able to reassemble Megabot, which resumes its attack on Ultron, concentrating on its chest. Sure enough, as soon as it tears its way through the junky bits of random metal and carbon fiber, it pulls out a few chips and wires until Ultron finally deactivates, sinking to its knees lifelessly.

“ _Thank you,_ ” Tony says, one hand splayed across his chest and the other clapping Hiro’s shoulder.

Hiro, however, looks quite crestfallen, to say the least. “ _I know he’s a bad guy,_ ” he says in a low voice, “ _but that was so painful, watching the light leave his eyes like that._ ” He shrugs Tony’s hand off, then leaves the video call.

“ _Uh, what just happened?_ ” Tadashi asks, coming into view at last.

“We’ll tell you on the plane,” Steve says.

“ _All right, then,_ ” Tadashi says. “ _Oh, and by the way, May and the others are back with Thor and Sif, and...what’s that, Hiro? Oh. Okay. Um, Hiro says he wants you guys to bring that pile of junk back to the quinjet._ ”

“ _WHAT?_ ” Stark explodes. “ _What are you, insane? That’s freaking Ultron! We can’t bring him back with us!_ ”

“ _We can’t just leave him there, either!_ ” Hiro cries off-screen.

“ _I’m with Hiro,_ ” Peter says. “ _Stark, haven’t you ever read_ Frankenstein?  _Part of the reason why the monster turns against his creator is ‘cause Frankenstein outright rejected him!_ ”

“ _What’s that supposed to mean?_ ”

Baymax presses his chest to shut off the call. “ _We’ll just leave them to argue amongst themselves,_ ” he says. “ _Anything to ensure your emotional well-being isn’t negatively affected._ ” He holds out his hand until Megabot climbs back into it, then he steps back into his Baybox (which has been parked around the corner this whole time) and shrinks into it.

We watch as the Baybox races out the door, heading back to the airport, I guess. It’s remarkably fast, much more so than Baymax on his own.

As we get into Steve’s car - except Ginny, who has her own car in which to follow us - I start to think about what Peter said.  _Frankenstein_  seems like a pretty good parallel here - especially with the freakish way this version of Ultron looked. When I’d read that book for AP English, I’d suggested that perhaps Frankenstein should have thought about how ugly his creature was, and therefore seek to improve that, rather than use it as an excuse to abandon it. (My teacher, Mr. Green, managed to take a brief break from his infinite dark sarcasm to say that it was a perfectly valid theory - the closest he’s ever come to complimenting me.)

If Tony really did make Ultron, I’m guessing he may have given up after it became the patchwork creature we saw today. Then, later, it probably took it upon itself to become the deadly, refined, sculpted android I saw in Skye’s photo, and in my dream.

In any case, I’m sure that the metal parts rattling around in Steve’s trunk are probably going to become murderous sometime in the very near future. Otherwise, why the hell would he be the next big Marvel villain?


	17. The Path That You Would Never Want For Me

*****PETER*****

After the video call ends, Hiro and Stark get into a ridiculously long argument. I try to get my two cents in - specifically, by bringing up that  _Frankenstein_  comparison - but that doesn’t get me anywhere. These two are so much more scientific than I am, and they’re extremely passionate about their opinions to match. I really have no place in this fight - but, oddly enough, I’m finding myself on Hiro’s side. I’d put some of the responsibility for that on Gwen and her theory about why Frankenstein should have worked to better his creature rather than reject it outright. (There’s a reason why Mr. Green said it was “perfectly valid” - he couldn’t think of anything nasty to say about it, the way he usually does about my own interpretations of the books we read in his class.)

Because I’m so very much not involved in their...erm...discussion, I’m the first one to see May and Barton return with two other young people in tow - Thor Odinsson and Sif Surtsen. I imagine by now they’ve been at least partially informed of what’s going on, but both of them still look pretty bewildered.

“Hey, guys,” I say with a nervous laugh. Both of them are quite intimidating - even Sif, who doesn’t have Thor’s height advantage but has a certain dangerous gleam in her eye. It’s even worse knowing that, according to Skye, they’re not human. They’re Asgardians, as is Loki. Suspiciously human-like aliens who were once worshipped as gods. They say that God made man in His own image. Was there a better God out there who made the Asgardians?  _Well, duh,_  you might say.  _They’re gods themselves._

And now I’m imagining a reader’s reaction to my thoughts - again. I really have to stop doing that. I’m not going to turn into Deadpool Junior here.

“So you’re one of them too, Parker?” Thor asks, trying not to laugh. “Please tell me you’re the Incredible Hulk, at least.”

“Nope.”

“Shame.” Sif blows a strand of black hair out of her face. “I would love to meet the one who beat up Loki and shake his hand.”

Thor looks, understandably, pained by her words. I guess there’s something to be said for brotherly love - even when your brother is a cryokinetic, catfishing headcase with a complete inability to connect to people unless he’s causing them pain.

“He’s not here,” Barton says, taking off his sunglasses. I’ve never understood why he insisted on getting those things - they make him look like a teenage clone of Bono.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say. “I’m actually-”

“Parker, think fast!” Sure enough, as soon as Stark’s voice calls out, I sense something streaking through the air behind me, coming my way. I hit the deck right away, then look up to see the webline splatter all over Thor’s chest, coating his already sweat-stained Augustine Avengers gym shirt.

I guess being brought to this world must have cost Thunder-Arms (and now I really have to appreciate just how appropriate that nickname is) some of his godlike reflexes.

Sif tilts her head back so she can look under the bill of her baseball cap. Then she bursts out laughing at the ridiculous sight.

Meanwhile, I check my jacket cuffs, and find that one of my webshooters is missing. “Stark!” I turn around and see him holding something behind his back, while Skye and the Hamadas struggle to smother their own laughter. “Seriously? Come on!”

“What’s a little harmless prank between fellow teenage Avengers, am I right?” Stark chortles.

“God, just ‘cause everything’s a toy to you…” I storm over to Stark and use my other webshooter to pull his arm out from behind his back. He drops the stolen webshooter in surprise, allowing me to take it back and clip it into place once again. “Next time you take one of these, I’m gonna hang you from the deck at my house.”

“Is that a promise?” Stark asks, still looking mischievous.

I roll my eyes before walking away. Seriously, who knew I’d be the most mature one here? Well, there’s also Gwen. And Barton. And Tadashi.

I go back to Thor, who’s busy trying to get the stringy webbing off his shirt. Naturally, he’s having a hell of a lot of trouble with it. Not only does it continuously stick to his hands, but his fingers are so big that he can’t get a decent grip on the stuff.

“Here, let me take care of that,” I say.

Thor looks up and blinks a couple of times. Then, he takes the shirt off and hands it off to me. “Thanks,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” I say, trying not to get distracted by his highly impressive bod. I take a seat in a nearby chair and get to work plucking the webbing off. It’s only when I really start clearing it away that I remember the shirt’s also been sweated in. It’s wet, and I can smell it too. Wrinkling my nose, I continue with the task at hand, occasionally sparing a moment to glare at Stark as he starts chatting away about something or other with Thor and Sif.

“Lucky you, you got those long, thin fingers,” Barton says, sitting next to me. “Ever considered taking up guitar? Or piano?”

I stop for a moment to do a little air-guitar routine. Or, more accurately, air bass guitar, complete with Este Haim-style “bass face.” Barton starts laughing his head off. When he can finally breathe properly again, he says, “I can see why you wouldn’t have.”

“‘Cause I got no musical talent, isn’t that right?” I clean some of the excess webbing off my hands before going back to removing the rest from Thor’s shirt.

A few minutes later, I finish the job and return Thor’s shirt. Not long after that, Gwen returns with Natasha and Rogers, as well as Pepper Potts. “What happened to you guys?” I ask, seeing how shaken up they look. Gwen and Rogers even have small cuts and bruises on their hands and arms.

“It’s a long story,” Rogers says. “Parker, could you help me out with this?” He points to Ultron’s patchwork metal body, which has been folded carefully into the trunk of his car.

“Thanks a lot,” Hiro says as Rogers and I carry Ultron into the body of the quinjet. “Um, but I don’t have any lab space here to work on this. If only we were on the Bus…” His voice trails off as the crash once again appears fresh in all our minds.

Rogers and I eventually get directed to leave Ultron folded up on a seat, with Hiro in the next seat so he can tinker with it. I then turn to Gwen, who’s busy tending to her wounds. “Hey, let me help you with that,” I say.

Gwen looks up, a bottle of antiseptic spray suspended in her hand. “It’s okay, Peter. I got this.”

“Nonsense,” I say. “You did it for me once, so why shouldn’t I return the favor?” I turn to the first-aid kit she’s got open and fish out a couple of small Band-Aids. I unwrap these and stick them to her freshly-sprayed cuts. Then I proceed to spray the rest of her small cuts - there are a lot of them on her right arm in particular.

“Before I finish making you look totally emo,” I say as I hold her hand with one of mine while using the other to get more Band-Aids, “can I ask what the hell happened?”

“Ultron happened,” Gwen says. “Ginny accidentally activated him, then that Fry’s worker blew the Tesla coil, and...well, you can imagine.”

“Not really,” I say. “Wait - you guys blew the Tesla coil? Aww. That was my favorite part of going to Fry’s, when they’d do the demos.”

“Sorry to ruin your childhood, then,” Gwen says with a sheepish smile.

I stick the last Band-Aid in place, running my thumb over its surface. “I hate seeing you get hurt,” I say. “I don’t wanna lose you again. But if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’re not one to take a backseat when all the action’s going down.”

“And that’s all you need to know about me, Bug Boy,” Gwen says. Then she uses her free hand to do a facepalm. “Oh - I almost forgot. We ran into MJ Watson while we were looking for Ginny, and she said your aunt and uncle were trying to call you or something.”

“Really?” I automatically reach for my pocket, then find my cell phone. It’s working fine, but it’s on silent. I have a bad habit of not being able to sense the vibrations of my phone - usually because I carry it in my jacket pocket. Even though I’m not totally certain whether or not cell phone cancer rays exist, I’m not so inclined to risk my balls by keeping my phone in my jeans. Besides, I often can’t even get things in or out of my pants pockets anyway, because they’re slim jeans and all.

“Is she really your neighbor?” Gwen asks.

“Believe it or not, yeah, she is,” I say. “Um, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna go and...you know…”

Gwen nods silently, then backs away from me, gathering up the first-aid supplies and packing them in. I leave the quinjet and start pacing the hangar floor as I dial Aunt May’s number.

The phone rings only once before it’s picked up. “ _Hello? Peter? Is that you?_ ”

“H-Hey, Aunt May,” I say. “Wow. It’s, uh, it’s been a crazy day.”

“ _Peter, what’s happening?_ ” Aunt May asks. “ _Your uncle and I, we’re so worried about you. There was this Asian lady, a government agent, she said something about you having to help them with national security or something, and-_ ”

Aunt May is quickly interrupted by Uncle Ben. “ _Peter? What’s going on? Tell me you didn’t get arrested for taking a picture of Air Force One on the SFO runway or something._ ”

I laugh at Uncle Ben’s joke - at least, I hope it’s a joke. “No, Uncle Ben, I haven’t been arrested. It’s just…” I cup my hand over the mike so they don’t hear my heavy sigh. “Look, it’s a really crazy story. I barely even believe it myself, and I’m sure you wouldn’t either.”

“ _Try us_ _,_ ” Uncle Ben says.

“ _Go on,_ ” Aunt May says. “ _We’ll believe you, don’t worry._ ”

I take a deep breath before giving them the skinny. “Long story short, I’m...I’m a superhero.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause. “ _A superhero?_ ” Aunt May repeats. “ _Like in comic books a-and movies?_ ”

“That’s what these guys from SHIELD are telling me,” I say. “I’m a superhero, and so are half my classmates. We’re all comic-book characters, basically. And we’re from another universe where the stuff in the movies is all real.”

Another long pause. I keep expecting one of them - probably Uncle Ben - to call bullshit.

“ _So…_ ” Uncle Ben says, dragging the word out for a while. “ _In that case, which superhero are you supposed to be? The Flash? Iceman?_ ”

“Close,” I laugh. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“ _That was what I would have guessed,_ ” Aunt May says. “ _Ben, I’m surprised at you. Didn’t you used to read all the comics when you were a kid?_ ”

“ _Me and Richard both,_ ” Uncle Ben says. “ _Hey, wait a second - if you’re Spider-Man, then doesn’t that mean I die?_ ”

“No!” I say a little too quickly. “Um, no. No, you know the comic book movies aren’t exactly 100% faithful adaptations, right?”

I’ve always considered myself a really sucky liar, because I’ve had very little practice at it. Or so my old memories keep telling me. But Uncle Ben and Aunt May seem to buy my lie, no problem. “ _Okay,_ ” Uncle Ben says. “ _We believe you. Don’t we, May?_ ”

“ _Yeah, of course we do,_ ” says Aunt May.

“You guys don’t have to humor me,” I say. “I told you, I can hardly believe it either.”

“ _It’s not about believing you, Peter_ _,_ ” Aunt May says. “ _We just wanted to know you were all right. And whatever’s going on, at least you’re safe. You are safe, right?_ ”

“Have I turned up dead on the news yet?” I ask.

“ _He’s got a point,_ ” Uncle Ben laughs.

Aunt May laughs as well before saying, “ _Again, Peter, thank you so much for calling. It’s okay, you don’t need to tell us anything else. Especially if there’s some national security thing involved - if they won’t let you tell us, we’ll understand. But remember - secrets have a cost. They’re never free._ ”

Now, for the first time, I really start to choke up. Did she have to say that, just like in the movie? Have either of them even seen this universe’s versions of those movies? “Okay. Okay, Aunt May, Uncle Ben. I-I-I’ve gotta go now, though. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

“ _Wait, Peter, before you go - did you see Mary Jane? We did ask her to have you call us._ ”

I scratch my nose as I laugh at Aunt May’s question. “Yeah...um, no. Actually, Gwen Stacy got the message from her, and she passed it on to me.”

“ _Isn’t that the girl from the debate team?_ ” Uncle Ben asks. “ _The pretty one who’s front and center in all your photos?_ ”

“Let’s not go there, Uncle Ben,” I say. “Put it this way - there’s a reason why I paid special attention to her. Yeah, I know you guys like to ship me with MJ, but she’s...not my type. Not like Gwen.”

“ _We don’t ‘ship’ you with anyone!_ ” Aunt May says, so hotly that it makes her fake denial completely obvious.

“ _What does that even mean?_ ” Uncle Ben asks.

“Ask one of the young guys at work,” I laugh. “Like that one you said looked like Thomas from  _The Maze Runner._ ”

“ _Maybe I will,_ ” Uncle Ben laughs. “ _We’ll see you later, Peter...I hope._ ”

“Me too,” I say. “Bye, Uncle Ben. Bye, Aunt May.”

“ _We love you, Peter,_ ” Aunt May says.

“Me too.” As I hang up, I swallow a couple of times, still feeling like I’m on the point of tears. I also can’t help but feel that this might be the last time I get to talk to my aunt and uncle, ever. I walk back to the plane, trying not to give in to my emotions.

Everyone’s talking to Thor and Sif - everyone but Hiro, who’s still working on Ultron. “Hey, Petey,” Barton says, beckoning me over. “Gwen and I are gonna go look for Maggie Carter with Honey Lemon. Wanna come with?”

“Uh...no thanks,” I say. “Well, not just yet. I...I gotta take a minute.”

“Don’t take too many minutes,” Barton says. “We’re leaving in twenty.”

I nod, then go over to the area where Hiro’s sitting. He’s got his iPod playing, so he doesn’t hear me. I sit three seats away from him, my head in my hands. God...the movies make it clear that being a superhero is hard, but there’s a massive difference being experiencing it vicariously on the screen and experiencing it for real.

I’m about to look up again when I spot a DVD jewel case stuck between two seats. I reach down and pick it up. It’s a  _Spider-Man_  movie, but not from the  _Amazing Spider-Man_  series. This one is just called  _Spider-Man._  It’s from the old trilogy of the last decade, the ones with Tobey Maguire as Cade Clarke...or Peter Parker, I guess.

Intrigued by the possibility that this might be the “real” version of Sam Raimi’s movie, I look around for a DVD player. The only one in sight is a laptop, which Hiro is using for himself. “Hey, Hiro,” I say, raising my voice so he can hear me over his music. “Um, I just, uh, found this movie, and I’d kinda like to, uh…”

Hiro pulls one earbud out - I hear “I Bet My Life” spilling out, which seems like a bit of an odd choice for him - and turns to me. “Oh, so that’s where it went,” he says. “I thought I lost that one at SF Tech...yeah, sure. Just let me transfer all my data to my tablet first.” He plugs his tablet into his laptop, then adds, “Just wanna check it out and compare it to your adventure, huh? Your movie’s better, I’ll give you that much.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling.

“No problem,” Hiro says, disconnecting his tablet and giving me the laptop.

I sit back down and load the DVD into the laptop. When I finally get to start the movie, I have to sit through a long piece of opening credits - but the cool Danny Elfman music in the background helps.

Finally, I hear Tobey’s version of Peter (I checked the back of the jewel case; it specifically refers to Peter Parker) introducing himself. “ _Who am I? You sure you wanna know?_ ”

I stifle a laugh, even though nobody else can hear me. I haven’t seen this movie in so long, but I definitely don’t remember Tobey Maguire talking like that. Did he really have such a nasally voice?

The movie goes on, and Peter is shown trying and failing to catch the school bus. Poor guy. Now that, I can relate to. I’ve been there before. And I know it was before I got my powers, too. I wasn’t in San Castiel at the time.

But then, after the bus leaves, the screen flickers for a second, and Tobey turns to look at the camera. “ _I’m sorry you had to see that,_ ” he says. “ _Embarrassing as shit, isn’t it?_ ”

I nearly drop the laptop. “What the...what…?”

“ _Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you, Peter_ _._ ”

“How...h-how do you...how do you know my name?”

Tobey smiles pleasantly. “ _You got that look in your eye. The look of a guy who wants to be normal, but because he’s not normal, that’s what gives him his true purpose in life. My look. Or, at least, it used to be._ ”

I stare at the screen in shock. Then I thumb the mouse pad and try to play the movie back, but for some reason, the usual Media Player controls don’t even appear on screen.

“ _Trust me, Peter, this is all real_ _,_ ” Tobey says. “ _Just as real as you being Spider-Man. So...what do you wanna know?_ ”


	18. I'm On A Ride And I Wanna Get Off

*****PETER*****

“Uh…” It takes me a minute to find my voice. “Uh, well, for starters, how the hell am I being talked to by a DVD? What is this,  _Doctor Who?_  Are the Weeping Angels gonna come out and sneak up and kill me?”

“ _What? Uh, never mind._ ” Tobey waves his hand lazily. “ _I mean, is there anything you’d like to ask me? Like, what the hell am I doing talking to you on your DVD?_ ”

“All right, fine,” I say in exasperation, fighting to keep my voice from rising too much. “First question - is this a recording? Who made this?”

“ _This isn’t a recording,_ ” Tobey says. “ _This is just two guys video-chatting as far as anyone else is concerned._ ”

“Two guys who happen to have the same name?”

“ _Basically, yeah._ ” Tobey blinks a couple of times. “ _Look, I dunno how much time we’ve got, so I’ll have to make this quick._ ”

“Please do.” Tobey rolls his eyes. “I saw that,” I say, crossing my arms.

“ _Long story short,_ ” Tobey says, apparently deciding to bypass the missing apology, “ _you’re not the only guy who’s been Spider-Man in the movies._ ”

“No duh. I found your DVD, didn’t I?”

“ _I, uh, don’t think you’re quite getting it,_ ” Tobey says. “ _You know how the Amazing Spider-Man movies are supposed to be a record of real events? Well, my movies used to be the same thing - until the studio decided it was time to bring you into the picture instead._ ”

“Are you telling me you used to be involved with the Avengers and SHIELD and crap?” I ask. “‘Cause I sorta remember your old movies from a long time ago, and there was never any sign of any other Marvel-related stuff.”

“ _Well, I did get Stan Lee in all my movies,_ ” Tobey says. “ _Not to mention Bruce Campbell. But that’s beside the point. Look - my movies were the real deal. I got to do three of them, and they were about to make a fourth. But because nobody liked_ Spider-Man 3, _they pulled the plug on me. And then the studio brought in some magician to basically wipe me and everyone else from my movies from normal existence. Like we’d never happened._ ”

“Wait...what?”

“ _I know,_ ” Tobey says ruefully. “ _It freaking sucks._ ”

“You said ‘magician?’” I ask. I then proceed to describe Doctor Strange, and when Tobey nods to confirm he was the magician responsible for his...erm...newfound existence failure, I shake my head and frown at the screen. “I knew we couldn’t trust that guy.”

“ _Yeah, I figured he’d be coming for you next,_ ” Tobey says. “ _I may only be able to exist on screens playing my movies, but that just means I can go around the world and pick up on a few things. Like the fact that the studio’s gonna wipe you from existence too._ ”

“WHAT?”

“ _That’s basically how I reacted when my series was cancelled,_ ” Tobey says. “ _And that’s why I wanna help you out however I can._ ”

I lean forward a bit in my seat. “Really? You don’t, uh, got any professional envy or anything?”

“Who are you talking to?” Hiro asks. Crap. He must have overheard my earlier outburst. He peers around at the screen. “Oh, you’re talking to the movie? Heh, no sweat. I do that too.”

“ _Who are you?_ ” Tobey asks.

“Huh,” Hiro says, sitting next to me and taking a closer look. “I didn’t know this thing was interactive.”

“It’s not,” I say quickly.

“Sure seems that way to me,” Hiro says. He then turns back to Tobey and says, “I’m Hiro Hamada. And you are?”

“He’s, uh, Peter Parker,” I say, unsure of why I’m still part of this conversation.

“ _No relation,_ ” Tobey says.

“Wait a sec...holy crap, you’re the original movie version!” Hiro says, looking like he’s on the point of a nerd-gasm. “You’re the Tobey Maguire version! I was wondering when I’d get to meet - wait. Why are you on the DVD?”

“Don’t ask,” I say. “You really don’t wanna know. And besides, don’t you have some more robot repairs to do?”

“Oh shit, you’re right!” Hiro jumps up and runs back to the Ultron carcass. “We’ll have to talk again later, other Peter! Bye!”

“ _Nice to meet you too, Hiro!_ ” Tobey calls out. I turn the laptop so Tobey can see exactly what Hiro’s doing. “ _Wow,_ ” he says. “ _That looks like so much work._ ”

“You’re telling me,” Hiro says. “Now, try not to distract me again, please!” He jams his earbuds back into place and turns his iPod on once again.

“Now, where were we?” I say, turning Tobey to look at me again. “Oh yeah. You really wanna help me avoid suffering the same fate as you? What if I don’t believe what you’re saying?”

“ _Even if you don’t believe me now, you will later,_ ” Tobey says, taking off his spex - which are huge compared with my dad’s - and using his shirt to clean them. “ _If I was you - and I sort of am - I’d rather believe me now._ ”

“Tell me why I should.”

“ _I can’t. You’ll just have to take a leap of faith. Kind of like what I did when I first tried to use my powers._ ” He does the same bending-his-fingers thing I’ve been doing to activate my webshooters, and out comes a long webline that quickly goes off screen. Except Tobey doesn’t have any webshooters on his wrists. In fact, when I look closely, it appears the webline is coming directly from his wrist. Like, out of some tiny slit in his skin or something.

“Ew,” I say, sticking my tongue out of my mouth. “You actually have spinnerets on your...oh my God. That’s disgusting.”

“ _I know, but I got used to it after a while,_ ” Tobey says, cutting the webline away with his other hand and casting it aside. “ _I was disappointed when I heard that they were gonna give you mechanical webshooters - but then I also heard that, traditionally, that’s how they do it in the comics. Apparently, there were four things they wanted to do when they made your movies - better special effects, darker tone, more faithfulness to the comics, and better actors. Oh, and better-looking actors. Like yours. Andrew Garfield, he’s very British and very quirky. Which, of course, means he gets all the girls._ ”

“You really think so?” I ask, feeling flattered.

“ _Sure. And, I mean, your Gwen Stacy is so much hotter than mine, too._ ”

“Hey, hands off, dude. That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.” I snicker under my breath as I see Tobey blush, then I add, “Wait, did you say I was played by a British guy?” I try switching to a British accent, but unfortunately, it’s my atrocious Thor impression I’m using as I say, “Pip pip, cheerio, ta-ta, and bloody hell!”

Tobey and I both laugh out loud. Even our laughs sound strangely alike - but his is higher, only because his voice in general is higher as well.

“ _But seriously,_ ” Tobey says, “ _you don’t got a lot of time. They announced the deal to recast Spider-Man...what was it...three months ago. Did you not hear about it?_ ”

“Um...yeah, I did,” I say. “But I didn’t mind. Aaron Johnson was good in the role, but have you seen that guy who stars on The Flash? I’d rather see him as Spidey any day.”

“ _True. And besides, after what Jason Momoa said about Marvel, that would be Marvel’s most surefire way to win the nerd war he started,_ ” Tobey says. “ _But back to business._ Age of Ultron _comes out in less than two weeks. The fan theory on the internet is that they’re gonna reveal Garfield’s replacement in the post-credits scene, and if that’s the case, you only have until the end of this month before Doctor Strange wipes you from existence just like me. After that, all you’ll get to do is watch from TV screens every time someone puts on your movies._ ”

“And what if that’s not the case?”

“ _Then you’ll get one more year,_ ” Tobey says. “ _But only that much, because they’re also saying on the internet that Garfield’s replacement - your replacement - might show up in the next Captain America movie this time next year._ ”

“You’re not making this sound good for me,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Tell me you can help me stop this.”

“ _I can’t,_ ” Tobey says. “ _It’s all up to you. But, if I can be honest, I think Doctor Strange is on your side, surprisingly. He got his hands on this DVD and put a spell on it so I can talk to people when it’s played. He must have done that for a reason._ ”

“Um…” My head is spinning. “This is too much, man. How am I supposed to process all this crap?”

“ _Not all at once, that’s for damn sure_ _,_ ” Tobey laughs. Then the screen twitches again. “ _Shit,_ ” he groans. “ _That’s th-the spell wearing off._ ”

“Wait, does that mean I won’t be able to talk to you again?” I ask frantically.

“ _No, no, you can,_ ” Tobey says. “ _J-Just wait twenty-four hours b-b-before you d-do it again. G-Good luck, Peter!_ ”

“Thanks, Parker,” I say just as the screen gives one last twitch. From there, the movie starts up again right where it left off, with Peter still at the bus stop, gazing in dismay at the bus he failed to catch.

I pop the DVD out of the laptop and stick it back in its case. Before returning the laptop to Hiro, however, I go ahead and Google the name Tobey gave me - Andrew Garfield. Sure enough, he looks exactly like me. A quick check on IMDb lists nothing to do with  _The Amazing Spider-Man_  - but, of course, I’m in San Castiel, where as far as anyone was concerned, he was never in that movie anyway. I’m sure by checking again on the other side of the portal, I’d find a different story. What really surprises me about his credits is that he appeared in two episodes of  _Doctor Who_  back in the David Tennant days. How did I not realize, when I saw those episodes, that he was me? Or that I was him?

God, this shit is breaking my brain. You’ve heard of the chicken and the egg, right? It’s no fun trying to figure out which of those you are in relation to someone else. Especially a famous identical stranger. Well, I say “famous,” but I’ve never actually seen any of the movies and stuff he’s been in. I’ve heard of some of them, though. Like  _The Social Network,_  or  _Never Let Me Go._  Maybe you’ve seen some of those? They’re not my kind of movie, so someone confirm for me-

Dammit, I’m getting Deadpool Brain again! Pounding my forehead in frustration, I close the browser window, shut the laptop, and return it to Hiro. He barely gives me a second glance as I leave, instead continuing to work on fixing up Ultron.

“Ready to go?” Barton asks me as I join him, Gwen, and Honey. “You don’t look ready. Everything all right, Pete?”

“Um...yeah, yeah, I’m good.” The others all look at me questioningly, but I say nothing else. I’m sure Hiro’s going to tell everyone else anyway. I can just picture it now: “Tadashi, guess what? Peter put on the old  _Spider-Man_  DVD and we got to talk to the old Peter! You know, the Tobey Maguire Peter? Wait, what’s that syringe for? Tadashi...what the hell - OW! That hurt! And...nnnnow it doesn’t hurrrrt sooooo muuuuuuch…”

I really have a weirdly overactive imagination sometimes. About the only use I have for it is when I’m babysitting Miles Morales, the kid across the street. He may be eleven, practically old enough to be home alone at this point, but understandably, his mom doesn’t want him to just be a latchkey kid or anything. So I spend an hour or so after school with him every day, and sometimes more on the weekends. And I offer him tips on the comic book project he’s been drawing for the last year or so. Mostly for the story, since my drawing skills are a tad bit rusty.

It doesn’t seem entirely coincidental that we end up driving past my neighborhood, and I do a facepalm, cursing to myself. “What’s the matter?” Gwen asks.

“I just realized I was supposed to watch my neighbor’s kid today,” I say.

“You do babysitting?” Gwen asks.

“Just for the one kid, though,” I say. “Miles Morales. I think his mom asked me to do it ‘cause other than me, MJ Watson is the only other teenager in our neighborhood. Our neighborhood’s full of old people, for some reason.”

“You don’t live near where they had that big explosion a few years ago, do you?” Gwen asks.

“No, but I’m pretty close to it,” I say. “But I’m not remembering it so well anymore - probably ‘cause all my ‘real’ memories are shutting out the fake ones again.” I look out the window again and see that we’re heading up Highway 35, past the campus for Crestview College. “Wait a minute - where exactly are we going again?”

“Terra Nova,” Honey says.

Barton consults his phone. “Yep. Natasha says that Carter’s at Portola Point.”

“I thought Maggie didn’t have any kind of technology to track her with,” I say.

“She doesn’t, but Sam Wilson does,” Gwen says. “He took a selfie with Maggie and put it on Instagram. They’re doing something for the Augustine Aviation Club on the beach.”

Honey turns left onto Blade Ridge Road, which connects San Castiel to the oceanside town of Terra Nova. As we come over the top of the hills separating the two towns, we’re immediately hit by dense, chilly fog. Typical weather for Terra Nova, Palmer City, Luna Cove, places like that.

Gwen shows me the aforementioned selfie. I see Maggie Carter, a pretty girl in a sort-of casual suit getup, standing next to a tall black guy who I assume is Sam Wilson. “Have I never heard of this guy before?” I ask.

“Aviation Club isn’t really front-page material for the Augustine Avenger, so maybe not,” Barton says. “I barely even knew who he was myself. But Rogers did. They’re pretty good friends. In fact, if not for all the other shenanigans going down, Rogers said he would be there with Wilson and Carter right now.”

“Right.” I take a closer look at the selfie and spot something in the upper corner of the frame. It looks like one of those helicopter-y mini-drones they keep showing all the time on  _Modern Family._

A few minutes later, when we reach the beach near Portola Point, that same drone comes into view, hovering about twenty feet up. I can see it if I crane my neck and peer through the sunroof. But then, as if it senses my presence, the drone moves away, towards the ocean.

As I get out of the car and zip up my hoodie, I hear a guy’s voice yelling, “Dammit! It’s getting carried away on the wind again!”

“Give me that!” cries a girl’s voice. English-accented, sounding eerily like Simmons.

I look in the direction of the voices and see Wilson and Carter standing on the sand, their eyes following the path of the runaway (or should I say “flyaway?”) drone. Carter has a huge remote control in her hands and is furiously working to bring the drone back before it’s carried out over the sea.

Honey, however, has other plans. She emerges from the driver’s seat and taps away some commands on the hidden keypad built into the side of her purse. Gwen had told me about this earlier, and also added that the neon-colored balls that pop out of the purse explode into sticky schmutz on contact with other objects.

“Clint, I still have the bow and arrow in the back,” Honey says, holding a fresh ball of mint-green chemicals. “I’m gonna need you to launch this.”

“What?” Barton can’t believe his ears any more than I can believe mine. “Are you saying you want me to shoot down their drone?”

“Harmlessly,” Honey says. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. I used to fly these things in high school too. Before I turned to doing strange chemistry for a living.” She runs to the back of her car and grabs the bow and arrows for Barton. “Now hurry up!” she cries, attaching the green ball to the business end of one of the arrows. “I don’t want to let it fall into the water!”

“Are you sure about this?” I ask.

“It’s too light to resist this much wind!” Honey calls back. “Clint, get ready…” Barton stutters for a moment, but then sets his jaw and raises the bow. “Aim…” He draws back the string, nocking the arrow into place. “Fire!”

He lets the arrow fly. It soars into the air in a high arc before coming down again and striking the drone. The green ball explodes, turning the drone into a sticky, misshapen blob. Unable to fly anymore, it drops like a stone before landing on the wet sand below and promptly getting covered by the tide.

“Bloody Nora! OI!” Carter turns to see us, looking very much pissed off. “What were you guys thinking, shooting our drone like that?”

“Yeah, way to make an entrance, guys,” Wilson says, crossing his arms and glaring at us. Then his expression softens when he sees Gwen. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you guys...weren’t you…?”

“At the science fair yesterday? Yep,” I say. “We’re all living the teenage superhero life now. Literally. Welcome to the world of Marvel movies, guys.”

“What are you on about?” Carter asks, her eyebrows darting upwards.

I look to my left and see, through the fog, an abandoned umbrella stuck in the sand. Pointing my right arm at it, I launch a webline and pull the umbrella over here.

Wilson lets out a wolf-whistle. “Whoa. Okay, Spidey. Call me impressed.”

Carter, however, needs a little more convincing. “Just because you’ve got those weblines doesn’t mean anything. They might just be props. Fanboys get ahold of movie props all the time.”

“I’m not that obsessive, Carter,” I say.

“You’re still not-”

“Your name is Margaret Carter,” Barton bursts out. “Sometimes you go by Peggy, though.”

Carter’s face goes from pissed off to flabbergasted. “What...how did you know that?”

“That’s the big mystery, isn’t it?” Gwen asks. She looks to her left, somewhere past me, and then says, “Anyone else hungry? There’s a hot dog stand over there.”

Wilson sticks his hands in his pockets. “You know what, Gwen? You’re right. We can all do with a little food in our stomachs. Make a nice counterweight for when our heads really start to explode.”

“I second that emotion,” I say. “Even though all that head-splosion might make us puke up whatever food’s in our stomachs, but whatever.” I lead the way to the hot dog stand, my mouth watering as the smell of sizzling frankfurters fills my nose.


	19. Can You Hear My Heartbeat In This Bond

*****GWEN*****

“I haven’t had too many of these before,” says Maggie as she takes the first bite of her hot dog. “But I have to say, this is one of the better ones.”

“That’s part of the reason why I insisted we come here in the first place,” says Sam, slathering mustard on his dog. “Rogers can’t get enough of these babies either. In fact…how long until we get to see him?”

“Whoever said we knew where Steve was?” I ask, not sure why I’m insisting on being so guarded. After all, I’m getting no evil vibes from Maggie and Sam.

“No one did,” Maggie says. “It was just implied.”

“Yeah, we know where he is,” Honey says. “We can go back and see him as soon as we’re done here, in fact.”

“Perfect,” says Sam. “Excuse me a sec…” He goes back to the vendor and asks him for another hot dog.

Peter bites into his own hot dog and starts eating it with relish. (Not literally, thank God. I’ve never understood the appeal of relish. That stuff is basically pickle jam, and I don’t really care for pickles either. And besides, Peter’s preferred hot dog topping is ketchup.) I don’t notice until Clint starts smothering snickers that Peter’s got ketchup dripping down his chin.

“What?” Peter asks, clearly not realizing just how foolish he looks.

“Let me get that,” I say, reaching out with a napkin and wiping his chin. When he sees the ketchup come away on the paper, he laughs out loud. “Oh my God. Oh my God, I-I-I’m gonna die!” He goes down on his knees and curls up in a ball, making deathlike groans.

Considering I’ve died before, you might think I won’t be able to find Peter’s antics funny. And yet, I’m laughing my head off like everyone else.

Five minutes later, we’re on our way back to SFO. I’m in Honey’s car with Barton, while Peter rides with Sam and Maggie and explains the situation to them. As Honey drives back up Blade Ridge Road, Clint says, “Now I’m starting to remember something else - and it’s not from the movies, either.”

“What is it?” I ask.

“That part with Peter getting all funny just now after we got these?” Clint says, waving his hot dog. “I’m remembering something about him joining the Avengers for the first time, and the first thing he did was try to take over from Stark as class clown.”

“Is that so?” I ask, trying not to show how shocked I am by this news. “Honey, would you know if that’s true or not?”

“No,” Honey says. “But if you ask Skye, I think she’ll be able to tell you. Not May, though. She’s too secretive.”

“What else do you remember?” I ask Clint.

Clint leans back against his seat. “Hmm. Not much. But I do remember everyone laughing their asses off at whatever it is Pete was doing, and Stark trying to look like he wasn’t impressed.” He chuckles to himself, then wipes his mouth. “Yeah, it’s gotta be from the movie world, ‘cause we’re all adults - if you can count Parker as one.”

“Wasn’t he supposed to be, like, 19 or 20?” I ask.

“Who said that?”

“Skye.”

“Hmm.” Clint spends a few moments chewing thoughtfully on the last bite of his dog. “Definitely the movie world. And yeah, even as an adult, Stark’s full of shit.”

“He wouldn’t be Stark if he weren’t,” I say, pointing my finger at Clint.

“True. True.”

Silence ensues for a while, not being broken until we drive back to the airport and park in the hangar next to the quinjet. Sam and Maggie get out of their car and gaze at the plane, looking quite surprised.

“Expecting something bigger?” I ask.

“Sort of,” Sam says, looking around and seeing the rest of us crowded around the quinjet. “How do we all intend to fit in this thing?”

“I’m not sure,” says Peter. “But it’ll happen if Skye has anything to say about it. And besides, this baby’s got built-in camouflage!”

“That’ll come in handy if we run into those damn Dark Elves Stark told me about,” says Steve as he comes out of the plane, pulling on a tight gray T-shirt. A bandage is visible under one sleeve - I guess he got hurt at Fry’s, and got blood on his shirt as a result. Which would explain why he’s changed since then.

Steve then notices Sam and Maggie for the first time and waves awkwardly at them. “Hey, guys,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t come to the beach with you. Did you get the drone to work?”

“No,” Maggie says with a sigh. “And that woman with the pink glasses thought it would be funny to have Clint shoot it down.”

“I had to make sure you guys didn’t lose it!” Honey yells, pulling the goop-covered drone out of the back of her van. “Now I’m gonna clean this off. Don’t worry, it’ll be all intact when I’m done, I promise. But then you guys might need some help making it a little more flight-ready!”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks incredulously. “It’s flight-ready!”

“We couldn’t get it off the ground this time last week,” Steve says. “Who says anything’s changed?”

“Trust me on this, it was able to get into the air,” Maggie says. “Our next hurdle, of course, will be to get it to fly against the wind if need be. Oh, and Sam, aren’t you forgetting his hot dog?”

“Crap, you’re right,” Sam says, pulling Steve’s hot dog out of his pocket.

“From that vendor by Harkness Beach?” Steve asks.

“No, we stopped at Costco on the way here,” Peter deadpans. “Did anyone else know there was one right next to the airport? I sure as hell didn’t.”

“Sure, sure,” says Steve. “And if you really did try and cheat me, I’ll know.”

“You’re not serious,” I say. “What, are you some kind of hot dog connoisseur?”

“I’m always on the lookout for places to find great American food,” Steve says, unwrapping the hot dog and chowing down. “Mmm. That’s the stuff.”

“In that case, please tell me you’ve eaten at Burgermeister,” I say.

“Hell yeah,” Steve says. “That’s the best place to eat in Palmer City by a long shot. Burgers that aren’t fast food, if you guys can believe that.”

“Is it bad that I’ve never heard of this Burgermeister place?” Peter asks.

“I promise, as soon as this is all over, we’ll have dinner there,” I say.

Peter grins at me. “Only if you can promise it’s...you know...every bit as amazing as you say it is.”

“I can’t speak for your taste buds,” I laugh.

“Uh...I’ll take that as a yes,” Peter says, redoubling his smile.

“Burgermeister, huh?” Tony says, walking out from behind Steve. “Well, as the Romans would say,  _de gustibus non est disputandum._ ”

Behind Tony, Ginny rolls her eyes and groans, “Oh, please. Not that again. Ever since I told him I preferred 1D to AC/DC, that’s all he ever wants to say to me.”

“Isn’t that Latin or something?” Clint asks. “What does that mean again?”

“Basically, it means ‘no accounting for taste,’” I say.

Steve whirls on Tony, looking highly offended. “Stark, is that your way of saying you don’t like Burgermeister?”

“Maybe,” Tony says in a would-be innocent tone of voice. “Got a problem with that, Cap?”

Maggie clears her throat to get attention - sort of like Umbridge, but she actually does a proper “Ahem” rather than Umbridge’s signature ultra-prissy “ _‘_ _Hem, hem._ _’_ ” As soon as Tony and Steve stop trying to argue with each other, Maggie speaks up. “I’m sorry, but...I know Peter explained what’s going on in the car, but I’m just trying to get a handle on which of you are which superheroes. So-”

I raise my hand and say, “I’m not a superhero, actually.”

“Neither am I,” says Ginny.

“Nor me,” says Honey, who’s still busy trying to clean her chemicals off the drone.

“And you’re not a superhero either,” Peter says to Maggie. “But since you’re supposed to be Cap’s old girlfriend, that means you’re the only one of us who gets her own TV show. Which I guess would be called  _Agent Carter_  instead of  _Agent Blake._ ” He looks at Skye, who nods to confirm his theory.

“You’re saying I’m like Agent Blake?” Maggie asks, a smile forming on her face. “We’re talking Agent Caroline Blake, right?”

“How many other Agent Blakes are there on TV?” Clint asks. “Or in the  _Captain America_  movies?”

Maggie’s smile grows, and her eyebrows bounce around for a moment as she becomes more excited. “Oh my God. That’s amazing! I’m Agent Blake!”

“No, you’re Agent Carter,” Steve corrects her. “You’re the original, the real deal.”

Peter rubs his cheek with his knuckles. “Yeah. Think of it like this - Agent Blake is a fake.”

Maggie repeats Peter’s rhyme. “Okay. That should be easy to remember.”

Skye claps her hands. “Okay, now that the gang’s all here, why don’t we head on home?”

“Where  _is_  home, anyway?” asks Ginny.

“Outside DC,” Skye explains. “On the other side of a portal connecting this universe to the one you guys all come from.”

“Oh yeah, and speaking of which, how are we gonna be able to get through it without-” Tony begins, but Skye quickly shushes him.

“The camouflage will help,” she says. “All right, all aboard!”

Sam, Peter, and I all laugh at this. “What, are we going on a quinjet or a train?” I ask.

“Never mind,” Skye says, waving her hands impatiently. “Come on, guys, let’s all take our seats and take off for home!”

“Please,” Tony says. “Enough with the lame-ass jokes.”

“ _Yeah,_ ” May says snidely over the plane’s intercom. “ _I thought you had a better sense of humor than that._ ”

“I’m surrounded by teenage Avengers,” Skye says, standing aside while everyone else comes through the hatch. As she closes it behind Peter (who’s the last to come in), she adds, “I have no other excuse.”

“ _And none necessary,_ ” May says. “ _Now, one more question - are we sure we can get this damn thing off the ground with all these people on board?_ ”

Honey looks around, counting us all silently. “Uh, yeah,” she says. “I think so.”

“ _You better be right, Dulce,_ ” May says. “ _I’m not gonna crash two planes in one day._ ”

Maggie stops in her tracks, almost crashing into Thor and Sif. “Did you say ‘crash?’”

“‘Two planes?’” asks Thor.

“‘In one day?’” asks Sif.

I exchange glances with Peter, then we both start laughing fit to burst. Eventually, though, it fades into an uncomfortable silence.

“ _Just buckle up,_ ” May says tersely. “ _And make sure all your seat backs and tray tables are in their upright and locked position._ ”

“What seat backs?” quips Tadashi. “It’s not like we’re on the Bus here.”

The uncomfortable silence strikes again, at least until May fires up the engines and taxis out of the hangar. “Whoa, wait a sec!” Hiro cries out, scrambling to protect the Ultron parts he’s working on before they can slide away from him. “We’re taking off already?” He’s got one earbud falling over his shoulder and the other on the point of falling out of his ear, a Linkin Park song playing loudly out of both of them.

“This is why you shouldn’t listen to your iPod all the time,” Tadashi says, bending down to grab some of the fallen pieces of metal. “You don’t hear things.”

Hiro blushes as he takes the pieces from Tadashi.

“At least share the music with the rest of us, huh?” Tadashi holds out his hand, using the other one to grab a cable from under his seat. He plugs this cable into the wall one-handed, then plugs the other end into Hiro’s iPod. Right away, that Linkin Park song blares over the speakers.

“Whoa!” Maggie cries, covering her ears. She’s not the only one, but since she’d been a young woman in the forties (according to the movies, and  _Agent Blake_ ), it doesn’t surprise me that she’s the first.

“Whoops,” Tadashi says. “Hiro, tell me you have something a little less annoying on here.”

“No, it’s okay,” Peter says, raising his voice. “I like this song, actually.” He turns to Clint, then together they start doing an air-rock band routine, with Peter on guitar and Clint on drums. Hiro then starts singing along to the chorus, and I’m almost tempted to join in. It would be pretty easy, because the only lyrics in said chorus are “‘I’m bleeding out, dig it deeper, just to throw it away, just to throw it away.’”

Across the row of seats, Tony rolls his eyes. “Hiro, don’t you have anything more... _classic_  on this thing?”

“I might,” Hiro says. “Tadashi, could you look for ‘What About Love?’”

“That’s your idea of ‘classic?’” Tony splutters. “A cheesy eighties power ballad? Here, give me that!” He takes Hiro’s iPod from Tadashi, stretching the cable out to its full length in the process. “Oh thank God, you don’t have that song. But you do got other, better Heart on here…” He presses the screen, and the Linkin Park song is abruptly cut off, to be replaced by “Barracuda.”

“It’s still too loud,” Maggie grumbles.

“I don’t really like this one either,” Steve says, shrugging one shoulder.

“Whose iPod is this again?” Hiro asks. He actually unbuckles himself long enough to get his iPod back from Tony, then cycles through the menu. “Okay, I know just how to punish all of you.” The song he chooses is a light piece of worldbeat pop, with lots of piano chords and a woman singing in what sounds like Creole, in between repetitions of the same four nonsense syllables: “‘A boom boom ba.’” That part, sadly, makes me think of that horrific Black-Eyed Peas song with a similar name, but the rest of the song is good enough that I don’t really care.

“ _And we’re up,_ ” May says after a minute or so. “ _We should be through the portal in forty-five minutes, and unless the Dark Elves do a slice-and-dice jobs on this jet, we’ll be back at base by 2:56 Eastern time._ ”

Maggie knits her eyebrows. “Do we want to know about these Dark Elves?”

“No,” I say succinctly.

Maggie wisely decides to drop the subject, and instead climbs out of her seat and walks over to the nearest porthole. I look around the room once, then I get up and join her. “I don’t think anyone told you the whole list of who’s supposed to be which superhero, am I right?”

“No,” Maggie says, turning to me and cracking a brief smile before returning her gaze to the receding Bay Area bird’s-eye view below.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” I say. “I sometimes forget who’s who as well. There’s just so many of them to remember.”

“It’s even harder for me because I’ve never really kept up with all the comic-book movies,” Maggie says. “Or any other movie, really. Which might make sense, if I’m really Agent Blake...sorry, Agent Carter.”

“At least you’re learning,” I say.

Maggie nods, then turns around, leaning against the wall and facing away from the porthole. “But seriously,” she says, “if I’m really Agent Carter, then I’m supposed to be an old woman by now. Not a teenager. Which begs the question - why are all of us teenagers?”

“Because Peter and I were already teenagers, and they figured it would be easier to de-age the others than to age us up,” I say. “If you wanna know more, ask Skye. Who would then tell you to ask...well, you can’t ask Coulson anymore.” I bite my thumb for a second. “And he would’ve said to ask Doctor Strange, who’s definitely not to be trusted.”

“Great,” Maggie groans, doing a facepalm. “More people to remember.”

“Well, Coulson’s...um...he’s dead,” I say, feeling a bit of a lump in my throat. “And not for the first time, from what I’ve heard. As for Doctor Strange, we think he’s the one responsible for us being turned into teenagers.”

“‘We’ being who?”

“Me, Skye, and Peter,” I say.

Maggie turns and casts an appraising eye on Peter, who’s been talking animatedly with Steve, Clint, and Tony for a while. At first, I think they might be debating their superhero merits or something - but then I take a closer listen and realize they’re talking about music. Yeah, somehow, I don’t see Peter debating superhero merits with fellow superheroes. I don’t think he’s really one for that sort of dick-measuring contest.

Then, out of nowhere, Steve smacks his forehead just like Maggie did earlier. Except he’s not doing it to express exasperation. I think he’s getting another flashback.

I walk over to him and ask, “Steve? What’s wrong?”

“That was weird,” he says. “I was just in a fight with somebody. Some guy in black body armor with metal gloves…” He kneads his forehead and lets out a single groan. “Ugh, why can’t I remember more?”

“That must have been from  _The Winter Soldier,_ ” Peter says. “Hell, that description actually matches the Winter Soldier. Did he have a mask and long black hair?”

Steve nods. “I can’t see his face, though, so I don’t remember…”

Peter looks at me behind Steve’s back and mouths something. It takes me a couple of goes before my limited lip-reading skills come into play - there’s two syllables, and the last one is the word “friend.” Then Peter’s eyes flick in Steve’s direction for a moment, and I finally get the complete picture.

Whoever the Winter Soldier is, he’s supposed to be a friend of Steve’s. So why would he remember getting into a fight with him? And more importantly, what did the Winter Soldier do to turn his friend against him?


	20. We're Only Immortal For A Limited Time

*****GWEN*****

“So how do we expect to find the Winter Soldier?” I ask. “The real one, that is. Unless Steve remembers his name too?”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s still hiding in my subconscious somewhere. Sorry. But I’ll keep trying.”

“I got an idea,” Skye says. “Hiro, I’m gonna need to borrow your laptop. It’s easier to do this on a laptop than on a tablet or phone.”

“What’s ‘this?’” Hiro asks with more than a hint of suspicion in his tone. Nevertheless, he hands Skye his laptop before resuming his seemingly endless tinkering.

“‘What’s this? What’s this? There’s color everywhere!’” Tadashi can’t sing any more of the lyrics from that  _Nightmare Before Christmas_ song without laughing his ass off. But oh, how he tries. Naturally, it’s Peter and Clint who take up the slack, singing the rest of the first verse with almost no slip-ups. Their singing definitely leaves a little to be desired, but at least they’re light-years ahead of Stark - not that it’s impossible not to be.

“Okay,” Skye mutters, her tongue between her teeth as she starts typing away furiously. “May, how long until we cross through the portal?”

“ _Two minutes, thirty-nine seconds,_ ” May says.

Skye grunts once, then turns to Hiro and says, “Tell me you saved all the programs you’ve got open.”

“Of course,” Hiro says warily. “Why?”

“‘Cause I didn’t wanna have to screw up your files by not saving them before I close ‘em all,” Skye says. “I need to make sure there’s no other interference on this thing.”

“What are you doing that requires no interference?” Maggie asks.

Skye stops long enough to tilt the screen down slightly so she can look at us all more properly. “I’m gonna get a picture of the Winter Soldier from this ‘verse and compare it to what we’ve got in the SHIELD database.”

“You sure it’s gonna work that way?” I ask. “I mean, aren’t they gonna be two different men?”

“The Winter Soldier wears a mask and long hair to hide his identity,” Clint says, pantomiming the long hair around his head. “I think the pictures from both sides of the portal should be similar enough for a comparison, right?”

“Exactly,” Skye says. “The problem is getting the movie screenshot before we get to the other side. Once we cross over, if the picture gets lost for whatever reason, we won’t be able to get it back unless May turns this thing around.”

“ _Which I won’t be able to do,_ ” May says. “ _We desperately need to refuel this baby when we get back to base._ ”

“So, if you guys could all just let me do this in peace - or as much peace as I can get with the shockingly slow internet on this jet - please?” Skye says, serving a death glare until we all back away. “Thank you,” she says, heaving a melodramatic sigh before returning to her intense image search.

Peter barely stifles a snicker, then stage-whispers to Clint (probably so some of the rest of us can hear it as well), “Man, Skye’s doing some serious Team Scorpion shit.”

“Who knew something so ordinary could be made so important?” asks Tony, who’s leaning in behind Peter and Clint.

“Aaaand...I got it!” Skye cries, raising her fists in the air in triumph. “Okay, now we just gotta get through the portal and I can get into the SHIELD files to run the comparison test.”

“Is that the portal up ahead?” Sam asks, pointing out the porthole. Maggie and Ginny gather behind him, while Thor and Sif migrate over to the porthole directly on the opposite side so they won’t crowd the others.

“If you’re talking about a big ring of light that’s floating in the sky all by its onesy,” Tony says, dropping into a surprisingly accurate Jack Sparrow impression for all the words after “sky,” “then yes.”

I come up behind Thor and Sif, but I don’t look at the portal. I look in the opposite direction, where the wreckage of the Bus is still scattered over the mountainside miles below. How long will it take to get that stuff cleaned up, I wonder?

But the thought is banished from my mind (at least temporarily) after the blinding light of the portal fills the quinjet’s interior. Next thing I know, we’re on the other side, and the Bus is nowhere to be seen on the ground.

“Awesome,” says Sam as he also look back at the glowing portal.

“I feel like I’ve been through this before,” Thor says. “But it’s not exactly the same.”

“You’re probably thinking about traveling from Asgard to Earth and back again,” Tony says.

Thor shrugs his shoulders. “Could be.”

“I think Anthony might be right,” Sif says, biting her lip for a moment. I never used to understand why people (especially guys) found that to be a turn-on - mostly because I’ve come to associate it with  _Twilight._  I loved the books, but hated the movies, mostly because Kristen Stewart was a terrible Bella. I once found a blogger who thought Jennifer Lawrence would have done a better job, and I completely agree. She would have saved those movies with her presence alone. But then she probably wouldn’t have gotten the chance to play Katniss, and it’s impossible for me to imagine anyone doing that role more justice than Jen.

Of course, then I noticed that Peter did the same thing himself. His lip-biting isn’t as pronounced as Kristen Stewart’s, but it’s still easy to spot, especially when you start looking for it. Peter, probably because he’s awkward but not anti-social, makes it look surprisingly cute.

“Do you do that on purpose?” Tony asks, tilting his head at Sif. “Call people by their whole names, I mean.”

“Maybe,” Sif says with a mischievous half-smile to rival Peter’s. “You have a problem with that,  _Anthony?_ ” She clears her throat, then continues talking. “As I was saying before, I think you’re right about Asgard-to-Earth travel. I remember having a similar experience myself.”

“When you fell down from Heaven like the angel you are?” Hiro says with a laugh. Everyone turns to look at him, then he bends his head down over Ultron again. He tries to hide his flaming red face, but everyone can see it anyway.

“What’s the matter?” Peter asks Thor, who’s looking a little uncomfortable himself. “Trying not to let yourself lay the smack down on him for hitting on your girlfriend?”

Thor narrows his eyes for a moment. “Sif and I aren’t  _together._  We’re just friends.”

“‘We are amicable, yes, and I am male,’” I say, quoting one of my favorite scenes from  _Sleepy Hollow._  “‘But I suspect you are implying something else.’”

“Why is your British accent better than mine?” Peter asks, his eyes widening in wonder.

“You think you’re bad?” Skye laughs. “You should have heard the time Fitz tried to get me to do a Scottish accent. I friggin’ sucked, laddie,” she adds, doing a truly cringe-worthy demonstration of said sucky Scottish accent.

Peter puts on his own horrific British accent (I guess it’s supposed to be English, but his American hard “r”s keep making themselves known) as he asks Skye, “Don’t you have more work to do on that bloody Winter Soldier?”

“Please,” Sif groans, covering her ears. “Enough with the sonic abuse already.”

Peter laughs a few times before finally returning to his natural voice. “So, Thor, what’s on your mind, if not violent urges to defend Sif’s honor?”

“Which I can defend on my own,” Sif interjects. I flash her a thumbs-up behind Peter’s back.

“It’s nothing,” Thor mumbles. In a more clear tone of voice, he adds, “I’m just...I’m wondering what my brother’s up to back home. He came home with a bruise on his forehead last night and wouldn’t say who did it.”

“That was me,” Natasha says sheepishly, raising her hand and smiling awkwardly at Thor.

“Don’t you go and defend Loki’s honor on Natasha now,” Clint says. “I know krav maga, my Asgardian friend.”

“Do you really?” I ask. My face is wearing an amazed expression which is also shared by Peter.

“I probably do, and I just haven’t remembered it yet,” Clint says. With the sudden steely glint forming in his eye - a Clint Glint, haha - I’m inclined to take him seriously.

“Don’t worry,” Thor says. “If it really was you, Natasha, I wouldn’t beat you for it. He’s got an irrational hatred of you anyway, and the last thing I wanna do is contribute to his endless cycle of violence.” He finds the nearest seat and drops into it, stroking his stubble-covered chin as he gazes at the floor. “It’s really hard for me sometimes. I do want to defend Loki, because he’s my brother and that’s what brothers do. But let’s face it, whatever his motivation, he’s done some things that I can’t just let go.”

“Done things to you personally?” Peter asks.

“Other than occasionally trying to punch my lights out because he thinks I don’t understand him, no.”

I’m a bit disturbed by the matter-of-fact way Thor says that. “Sounds like it’s a pretty regular thing at Casa de Odinsson. It isn’t, is it?”

“Not really,” Thor says. “But like I said, Loki’s problem with me is that he’s under the impression I don’t understand him and what he’s going through.”

“‘What he’s going through?’” Clint’s fighting to not sound incredulous and/or rude as he repeats Thor’s words.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Thor says. “Either that, or you’d think it was ridiculous.”

“Try us,” I say. “After everything that’s happened in the last couple of days, there’s pretty much no such thing as ‘ridiculous’ anymore.”

“It’s a bit personal, though,” Thor says. He’s no longer stroking his chin - instead, he’s biting the knuckle of his thumb. “But I’ll tell you anyway. Because if Loki were here, he’d probably insist on hiding it, but in his head he really wants to tell people.”

“What, that he’s gay?” Peter asks. He’s trying not to laugh as he adds, “Dude, given what he did with Clint, I think it’s safe to say that’s pretty much an open secret.”

“He’s not gay,” Thor says. “Er...have any of you guys seen  _Torchwood?_ ” Peter snickers, prompting Thor to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Peter says. “It’s just...we were just at Harkness Beach, and-”

“Oh, I see,” Thor says, laughing along with Peter and Clint. Even Tony throws in a chuckle or two.

I don’t say anything, because the pop-culture reference is going over my head - but I’m sure Peter or Thor or one of the other guys will explain it soon enough.

In the end, it’s the latter. “So, for those of you who don’t know,” Thor says, “ _Torchwood_  was a spinoff of  _Doctor Who_ _,_  featuring one of that show’s more popular characters as the star - Captain Jack Harkness.”

“Not to be confused with Captain Jack Sparrow, I’m guessing?” I ask.

“Nope,” Peter says. “They do have a lot in common, though. Besides the ‘Captain Jack’ thing, that is.”

“Like what?”

“The fact that they’ll both, in the words of one of the other  _Torchwood_  characters, ‘shag anything if it’s gorgeous enough,’” Thor says. “I think it was Owen who said that, right?”

“Nah, it was Toshiko,” Tony says. “Believe me, I’d know. The number of times I’ve watched that show…” His voice trails off, and I can see his ears starting to turn red.

“The point is,  _Torchwood_  is basically like a British  _X-Files_ _,_  but with all the characters having pretty fluid sexuality,” Thor says. “Previously established straight characters sleeping with people of the same gender, Captain Jack being openly omnisexual, that sort of thing.” He draws a deep breath before continuing. “And that’s why it’s Loki’s favorite show. Our parents don’t approve of him being attracted to people regardless of gender, but by watching  _Torchwood,_  he started accepting that that was who he was.” Thor lets out a harsh laugh. “Of course, he didn’t actually discover it until Mum and Dad sent him to ‘rehab,’” he adds with air quotes for effect. “If he’d seen it before, I’m sure he wouldn’t have resorted to the kind of sneaky, deceitful tactics he used on you, Barton.”

Clint nods tersely. “Okay then. Next order of business - time-travel back a year to put that theory to the test.”

“It could work,” Thor says. “In fact, I was on the point of introducing him to  _Torchwood_  for the first time when he was sent away.”

“And I introduced Thor to it myself,” Sif says.

“Because I opened up to her about a little secret of my own,” Thor says. “Loki’s not the only son of Odin who’s bisexual. Or pansexual, or omnisexual, or however you wanna draw the distinction. I prefer the term ‘bisexual’ myself, whereas Loki insists he’s pansexual.”

“And I’m bi as well,” Sif says. “Which, now I think about it, seems like a pretty strange coincidence. I mean, three Asgardian teenagers in San Castiel, and they’re all open to sleeping with men and women both?”

“Haha, talk about kismet,” I say.

Peter nods sagely. “I actually read somewhere that the Asgardians don’t really have a human concept of sexual orientation.”

“You mean, like the Doctor?” Clint asks.

Peter nods again. “Yeah. Exactly. So you guys would be functionally bi - but then why would your parents not approve? Unless their being in this universe, as humans, means they have more human values…?”

“Don’t ask me,” I say, holding up my hands. “My brain is hurting again.”

“I know the feeling,” Peter says. “It’s agonizing, isn’t it?”

“Oh, hell yes!” Skye cries, shattering the serenity of the moment. I turn to see her doing another victorious fist-pump, and then she says, “Guys, guys, I found the real Winter Soldier!”

“Really?” Steve asks. He’s the first to crowd around Skye, closely followed by Sam and Maggie.

“Whoa, don’t everyone come up to me at once!” Skye says, pushing people away until she can turn the screen around, the better to show more people. We’re all still standing around Skye, though, even as May announces that we’re about to land in DC.

I lean down slightly as I get a better look at the screen. On one side is the  _Captain America_  screenshot Skye had found online earlier. On the other side is what can only be a digital SHIELD dossier - I’ve learned by now to recognize the stylized eagle logo stamped on the upper corner of the page - bearing a picture of a similar-looking man with long hair, a mask covering the lower half of his face, and black body armor.

The name written on the dossier is “James Barnes,” nickname “Bucky.” I turn to Steve and ask, “Does he look familiar?”

Steve’s voice is tight, and his jaw is clenched as he says, “Yeah. I remember him now.”

“What do you remember?” Peter asks. I shiver as I remember him asking me the exact same question.

“I thought he’d died - but then he came back and tried to kill me.” Steve blinks rapidly, then says, “But I think they brainwashed him. He wasn’t himself. He would never have tried to…” His voice trails off, and he crosses the room, sitting all by himself under the last porthole.

“Huh,” Skye says, turning the screen around again. “That’s funny.”

“What is it?” Maggie asks, her eyes flicking between Steve and Skye.

“It says here that he was last seen at the Smithsonian a year ago,” Skye says. “But then I’m finding a thing here, some addendum from a local police report in…” She turns the screen up a bit, then opens a new window. “Seattle, Washington. Oh. Oh wow. Holy no way.”

I get into the seat next to Skye so I can read over her shoulder. What we’re looking at is a small article about a recent attempted robbery at an antique shop. The robbers were unidentified because both were masked men - but we can still recognize them easily in the security footage.

One is Bucky Barnes. He’s clearly been transformed into a teenager as well - I can tell because his forehead is considerably less lined and wrinkled than in his SHIELD dossier photo. But it’s still him - and I’m just now seeing that he’s got a fake left arm. It looks cybernetic, not at all attempting to imitate an organic limb like most prosthetics. And, according to the article, Bucky’s cybernetic arm was what was used to break into the store in the first place.

Meanwhile, his partner in crime is none other than Deadpool. The picture from the security camera is black and white, but I can still see the black-rimmed white eyes of his mask. In typical Deadpool style, he’s even flashing a reverse peace sign at the camera. Maggie is quick to complain at his rudeness - apparently that gesture is as good as shooting the bird in England.

I check the date on the article - April 22nd. Three days ago.

“You think he’s still in Seattle?” Peter asks. “Bucky, I mean.”

“I’d sure as hell love to find out,” Skye says. She glances over at Steve for a moment, then adds in an undertone, “I’ve been wanting to give him a piece of my mind for a while. Nobody betrays an Avenger. You just don’t do that, you know?”

The squealing of tires signals the quinjet’s landing, as does the light vibration of the whole passenger area. Hiro is forced to grab hold of his tools so they don’t go flying away from him. In the meantime, everyone else buckles up - only for May to announce after ten seconds, “ _We’re here, guys. No need for applause - we’re not a commercial airliner, but that doesn’t stop me from thanking you for flying SHIELD Air._ ” She even adds a laugh before the intercom cuts off and she emerges from the cockpit.

Seeing the assortment of downcast and/or depressed faces all around the room, May then says, “Well, hell. What’d I miss?”


	21. I've Been Lied To, So What's The Truth?

*****PETER*****

“I don’t get it,” Rogers says, scratching his head. “My memories are all a mess. Half of them say Bucky’s a friend, and the other half say he’s out to kill my ass.”

I take a look at Skye’s tablet once again - she’s now playing the video that came along with that Seattle news article. In between footage of Bucky Barnes leading Deadpool’s smash-and-grab with his robot arm (it’s pretty clear from the footage that Deadpool’s the one who’s doing the actual robbery, and Bucky’s just his accomplice), the reporter talks to the antique store owner - a grizzled old man with sunglasses and a New York accent who seems to be quite the antique himself.

“I’d go with the killer memories myself,” Gwen says. She pauses to take a sip of Orange Crush, then adds, “I mean, just based on what’s going on in this video.”

I look around at everyone else gathered at this mess hall table. Even though we all had lunch in some form back in San Cas, most of us are still hungry, for some reason. I’m even eating another hot dog - although the ones here are nowhere near as good as those from Harkness Beach.

“I’m with Gwen on this one,” says Skye. “Something about this really doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Were you trying to make that joke on purpose?” Simmons asks, trying not to laugh as she takes a seat next to her. Fitz comes in on her other side, carrying a delicious-smelling sandwich.

“Prosciutto, mozzarella, and pesto aïoli,” Fitz says, noting my interest.

I nod approvingly. “How, um, very Franco-Italian,” I say.

Fitz grins at me. “Yep. Provençal, if you wanna get technical about it.”

“No,” Skye says to Simmons, shaking her head and cracking a smile. “For those of you not in the know, one of the Hydra sleepers embedded within SHIELD was named Jasper Sitwell.”

Stark rolls his eyes. “Good one, Skye. Good one.”

“Thanks,” Skye says brightly, smiling as if she didn’t even notice Stark was being sarcastic. Or maybe she did, and that was her way of snarking back. I’m willing to bet it was the latter.

“What about you, Peter?” asks Tadashi, who’s busy adding sugar to a cup of decaf coffee.

“What do I think?” I ask. “I, uh…” I take a moment to try and get a handle on things. “So, this guy’s supposed to be the Winter Soldier - and that means he used to be Rogers’ friend, and now isn’t. But if I remember correctly, the ending of the movie kinda implied that Winter was trying to remember his friend again.”

“Doesn’t sound all that likely,” Barton says, cracking his knuckles.

“No, no, no, just bear with me,” I say. “I know I wasn’t the only one who was starting to remember shit from before. And Coulson...he said something about the ones with actual superpowers getting their memories back first.”

“Mmm.” Hiro nearly chokes as he tries to swallow a mouthful of pizza-flavored pretzel before chiming in. “Mm-hmm. So that means Steve probably had some kind of crazy nightmares, right? And Thor and Sif too.”

“Yeah, a few,” Rogers says. “Mostly about Evil Bucky - that’s what I’m gonna call him. But there were some about this cartoony-looking guy with a red skull.”

“The Red Skull?” I say, reaching into my memory for the first  _Captain America_  movie, the one set in World War II.

“Sounds redundant,” Gwen says.

“But that’s really what he’s called,” Natasha says. “Proof that villains really don’t have much imagination compared to heroes.”

“‘Cause they’re not creative - they destroy things!” says Barton, who then bumps fists with Natasha.

“What about you guys?” Gwen turns to the Asgardians. “Any weird memory flashes or nightmares?”

Neither Thor nor Sif responds.

“It’s okay,” Ginny says. “You don’t gotta be ashamed or anything.”

“What’s there to be ashamed of?” Thor asks. “Other than the fact that I never remember my dreams.”

“You don’t?” I ask, amazed.

“No,” Thor says, looking puzzled that anyone’s suggesting otherwise. “I don’t even try to remember them - I’m more about living in the present. Which I suppose makes sense, since I’m supposed to be a warrior god, after all. There wouldn’t be much use for dreams on the battlefield, am I right?”

“What about you?” Carter asks, rounding on Sif. “Do you believe in the same thing? Not even paying attention to your dreams?”

“That’s what I’d rather do myself,” Sif says, “but my dreams make themselves impossible to forget sometimes. Which is ironic, considering the last one I had.”

“What do you mean?” asks Wilson.

“Oh no,” Skye groans. “Don’t tell me-”

“There was a man with skin that kept turning blue,” Sif says. “And he had a rod that would take away a person’s memory on contact.”

Skye’s shoulders slump. “Yep, that’s the guy. He was a Kree - that’s why he had blue skin.”

“No love lost between you and him, right?” Simmons says, nudging Skye gently.

“He thought you were an abomination,” Fitz says.

“To be fair, so did I at the time,” Simmons says, inclining her head in shame.

Skye looks up and smiles at Fitz-Simmons. “But he just hadn’t gotten to know me and see that I was the same old Skye you knew and loved, Inhuman or not.”

“There’s that ‘Inhuman’ thing again,” I say, remembering how Deadpool called her that as well. “What does that mean?”

“I could stop and explain it,” Skye says, lowering her tablet for moment, “but then I’d end up taking a hell of a long time for it. And time is something we can’t exactly afford to waste, so…”

“Maybe later?” Barton asks.

“Definitely later,” Skye says. “You guys are working with me now, so you all have the right to know about my super-secret alien-induced earthquake powers.”

“That’s what you’re gonna leave us with?” Stark asks. “‘Alien-induced earthquake powers?’”

Skye ignores Stark and turns to May, who’s just entered the mess hall herself. “Is the quinjet refueled yet?”

“Yep,” May says. “So who’s gonna come with us to Seattle? Any volunteers?”

Rogers is the first to raise his hand, quickly followed by Thor, Carter, and Wilson. I look at Gwen, and together, we volunteer as well. At this point, May says that she won’t take any more of us, because she really doesn’t want to overload the quinjet again. “It’s a real safety hazard, kids,” she says apologetically to Barton and Natasha, “and we promised your parents we’d get you home safely when all was said and done.”

“Speaking of our parents,” Natasha says, “are those our real parents we know? Or are they just simulations as well? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure some of us have at least one dead parent each.”

May has no answer for that. Instead, she leads the crowd of volunteers out of the mess hall. She also asks Skye to come along as well. “I’d rather not leave you alone,” she adds wryly. “Koenig will be in charge until we get back.”

“Which one?” Skye asks.

“Why not both of them?” And on that note, May leaves the room. We teenage superheroes - and Skye - wave goodbye to everyone who’s staying behind.

“At least we don’t have to go through the portal again this time,” Gwen remarks once we’re in the air. “The fewer Dark Elf surprise attacks in our lives, the better.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “That must’ve been terrifying, that attack on the Bus.”

“You have no idea.” Gwen shudders.

“Could we not talk about the Dark Elf attack, please?” Thor asks, his brow creased.

“Okay, sure,” I say. “But...I mean, it’s not like you’re afraid of flying or anything.”

Thor shakes his head. “I’m not, no.” He then glances at Sif, who then glares at him - but it’s too late. The rest of us have already picked up on her embarrassing little secret.

“If Stark were here, he’d be the first to point out the irony there,” I say. “An Asgardian who’s afraid to fly.”

“I’m sure it’s just something that was...how should I put it...coded into me to make me seem more human,” Sif says, blushing heavily.

“You make it sound like Asgardians are fearless,” Carter says.

“Aren’t we supposed to be?” Thor asks. “Warrior-spirited godlike beings and all.”

“Warrior stereo-archetype is more like it,” I say. “You guys are just as human as the rest of us.”

“But we’re not human,” Sif reminds us. “And isn’t that a bit selfish, to say we’re as ‘human’ as you? That implies humans are better.”

Oh God, what can of worms have I opened? “No, I-I’m not trying to say anything like that at all-”

“Of course not,” Thor says. “But I think Sif’s right - that wasn’t the best thing to say.”

“Now it’s my turn to fill in for Stark,” Gwen says. “This time yesterday, you weren’t even aware you were anything but human.”

“No, but I do remember having to start shaving at fourteen,” Thor says. “Even though I’m sure that’s just a fake memory of that other world.”

We all burst out laughing at this point. Just the thought of a fourteen-year-old Thor - there’s something oddly hilarious about it, and I can’t really explain why. My guess? We’re just trying to diffuse the tension that we’re all undoubtedly feeling.

As we approach Seattle, something unexpectedly occurs to me. “Do we have any idea where to start looking for Deadpool and Bucky?” I ask.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do this whole time?” Skye asks, looking up from the two tablets she’s been running the whole flight.

“Play  _Minecraft?_ ” I ask.

“Of course not, silly,” Skye laughs. “I’m more of a  _Space Paranoids_  girl anyway.” She lays one tablet aside, then holds up the other. “I’ve been tracking their progress from the moment of the robbery using traffic cams.”

“Isn’t that how all secret police types do it?” Wilson asks.

“No,” Skye says. “Sometimes we use ATM security cams as well. Or TV news footage, if they accidentally pick up on what it is we’re looking for.”

“And did they?” asks Gwen. “Pick up on what we’re looking for, that is. Other than in that one report.”

“Not really,” Skye says. “I’ve got a good long trail to follow with the traffic-cam footage...but it does get cold after a while, I’m afraid.”

May lands the jet, then emerges from the cockpit and turns to Skye. “Any idea on where to go?”

“I’m trying to pick up their trail again,” Skye says, “but I think they went east out of the city on I-90.”

“I’ll go get us a couple of rental cars,” May says, making her way out of the jet. “You keep trying to find Deadpool.”

“It’s gonna be a nightmare, hacking so many other towns’ systems,” Skye says. “Try to get SUVs if you can, huh?”

“No promises,” May says, smiling for a second before heading out.

“You think they believe in SUVs around here?” I ask, snickering under my breath. “I mean, it’s the Pacific Northwest. They’re all about the environment here.”

“But they’re also all about the outdoors,” Gwen points out. “So, logically, they’ll have a good abundance of four-wheel-drives.”

“Yeah. Logically.” I frown at Gwen. “I’m just trying to be funny.”

“You don’t have to try, though.”

Within minutes, May calls Skye to have her come pick up one of the rental cars with her. Not long after that, they drive up to the jet, allowing us all to climb into one of two Dodge Durangos. Not exactly a typical government vehicle, just like the Lexus SUV these guys used to keep in the Bus.

I spend a while staring out the side window, then I hear Gwen ask, “What?”

“What is it?” I ask. “You say something?”

“No,” Gwen says, shaking her head quizzically. “But I thought you just said something. ‘Testing, testing, one, two...’ Wait, why do you want me to take your hand?”

“What?” I ask. “I didn’t say that, Gwen.”

“Huh...hey, you’re right, that’s not your voice,” Gwen says. “Wait, so whose voice is that?”

I stiffen as I realize what must be happening. “It’s the writer.”

“Yeah, he says you’re right,” Gwen says, looking up at the ceiling. “And he really wants me to take your hand. You too,” she adds, looking ahead to the second row seat, where Thor is sitting alongside Sif.

“Are you guys…?” Skye begins asking from the driver’s seat, but her voice trails off.

Without another word, Gwen takes my hand, then Thor’s.

That’s when the familiar male voice enters my head once again.  _Peter. long time no talk. Thor, I don’t think we’ve met. How goes it?_


	22. Don't Try And Make Sense

*****PETER*****

Thor's eyes go wide. His thoughts must be pretty rude ones, because the writer then says, _I'll take that as a "no comment." Now, could one of you guys get Lady Sif in on our little convo, please?_

Gwen shrugs at me. "I guess we should listen to him?"

"Him who?" asks Sif.

I reach out and touch her shoulder. Then I hear the writer's voice again. _Ah, about time. Sif Surtsdóttir...or is it 'Surtsen?' Sometimes I keep forgetting. I'm sorry, but I have too many characters to keep track of sometimes._

"It's 'Surtsdóttir,'" Sif says pointedly. Then she claps her hand over her mouth in shock. "All right, what the hell? Peter, are you doing this?"

"No, it's not me," I say. "I've heard this before. This is the same voice that gets into Deadpool's head."

_You got it, Petey._

"Don't call me that."

_Oh, sorry. I just thought...I thought I could be all friendly with you. I mean, you're one of the most iconic characters of all time. So are you, Thor, and Sif. If you consider the fact that you began in completely different forms as actual Norse gods instead of aliens worshipped as Norse gods. Thumbs up for postmodern mythology!_

"Uh...what?" Thor and Sif both look confused. Gwen's scratching her head, and I'm just reduced to blinking in surprise with my mouth open for about ten seconds.

_Good,_ the writer says when I finally shut my mouth. _You wouldn't have wanted any flies or microbots flying up in there._

This actually surprises me enough to get me to choke on my own spit. "Did...did you really have to say that?" I groan after coughing up a storm.

_Kinda, yeah. And Gwen, I haven't forgotten about you. You're the best partner Peter could ever have, and would ever have. That's why I brought you two back togeth-_ The writer's voice stops abruptly, then starts up again two seconds later. _Okay, I gotta go. But before I do - go to the Salish Lodge in Snoqualmie. Ask for Wade Wilson at the front desk._

"What?" I ask. "That's it? You sure this is a good idea?"

_Of course I'm sure. Deadpool's gonna be expecting you. I really do have to leave, though. Talk to you later! And nice to meet you, everyone other than Peter._

"Uh, guys?" Skye asks, speeding up and moving around a slow-moving semi. "What's going on? Who are you guys talking to?"

I quickly fill Skye in on the whole writer thing, then tell her where he's directed us.

"Okaaay," she says, stretching the word out to double its usual length. "I dunno about you, but I'm not so sure about doing this. But then again, it's not like we got any other leads. My gadgets still haven't been able to track down Deadpool again."

"So are we gonna do it?" Gwen asks.

Skye bites her lip, hesitating for a moment. Then she thumbs the screen of one of her tablets and says, "Peter, look up this Sandwich Lodge or whatever that 'writer' said, then give me directions. Gwen, call Steve and let him know to tell May where we're going."

"That's a yes," Gwen says.

Skye nods once. "I mean, it couldn't hurt just to try it out. It probably won't pan out, but if it does, well, color me amazed."

"We'll see, I guess." 

Thor passes me the tablet, and I use Google Maps to locate the Salish Lodge. It's located next to Snoqualmie Falls, and we can get to it by taking the Snoqualmie Parkway exit off I-90.

I look out the window - we're passing by a sign that says Snoqualmie is ten miles away. We have a little time, but I let Skye know what to look for anyway. Gwen, meanwhile, lets Steve know about our new travel plans, and when I turn around, I see May's SUV cutting over into our lane, staying about fifty feet behind us.

Ten minutes later, we get to the exit for Snoqualmie. From there, I use the tablet to direct Skye to the Salish Lodge. "Huh," she says when we reach our destination and see the misty waterfall next to the building. "So this is that waterfall from _Twin Peaks._ "

I tilt my head as I look at the waterfall. "Holy crap, you're right. I almost didn't recognize it - Barton's the real Peaks Freak between the two of us, not me."

Once we're inside, Skye and May go up to the front desk, while the rest of us hang out on the seats in the lobby. I spot a vending machine in one corner and offer to get snacks for everyone who wants them. Gwen insists on coming along with me, so I don't have to remember everyone's request. Or so she says.

"So," Gwen says as I stick a five-dollar bill into the machine, "that wasn't the first time that so-called 'writer' talked to you, huh?"

I shrug as I select some peanut M&Ms - these having been requested by our Asgardian friends. "At first, I thought it was just Deadpool screwing with my head," I say, pressing the code for the M&Ms once, then again so I can get a second package. "But now..."

"It's really unsettling, I agree." Gwen presses her hand against the front of the machine. "But it seems like he's trying to help us."

"But you don't think Deadpool and Bucky could be hiding out here?" I ask, picking Snickers for Rogers.

"It's too conspicuous," Gwen says. "Look at all the tourists coming in. Look at how nice the place is. I dunno about you, but I'm smelling a trap."

"I don't trust this place either," I say. More Snickers come out of their slots as I summon two more for Carter and Wilson. Finally, I pick out a Hershey's bar for Gwen and some Reese's Pieces for myself. "I mean, there's-"

I stop as I hear someone trying to sneak up on me. Spinning around, I almost throw a pile of candy into Skye's face.

"Don't be sorry," she says when I stutter out an apology. "I don't blame you for being jumpy. Ooh, Snickers. Who are these for?"

"Rogers," I say.

"All right. I'll get some myself." Skye slides past me and starts entering quarters into the slot on the front of the machine.

As we return to the waiting area, Gwen leans over and whispers, "Do you have your suit, by any chance?"

I pull my shirt up for a second, just long enough for Gwen to see the suit underneath. "Hopefully I won't have to strip down to it," I say. "Like, if we end up in the middle of a fight or something."

"Yeah. Hopefully."

I take a seat next to Rogers and start handing out the candy. "Any word?" I ask May, who's perched behind Thor, not bothering to take a seat. She's just standing there like a bodyguard.

"Deadpool and Bucky are here, yes," May says. "We asked for Wade Wilson - that's Deadpool's real name, by the way, and he's obviously not related to Sam here - and the clerk said he and his young friend were checked in here. But they're not in right now - or, at least, they're not responding when the front desk calls them."

"So now what?" Gwen asks.

"The clerk said if we wait long enough, Deadpool will make contact with us," May says. "He's always calling down for room service."

"How long has he been here?" I ask, opening my Reese's Pieces and pouring out a handful.

"Not long, but according to the clerk, he's a regular." May shrugs, then starts walking around our little semicircle of sofas. Again, she's putting on a bodyguard impression - and a pretty good one, too. Even I'm intimidated by the sight, surprisingly.

By the time Skye gets back from the vending machine, my attention has wandered over to a TV screen on the other side of the room. It's close enough that I can sort of hear what's playing, but I still need to turn the volume up with the remote control sitting on a nearby table.

A title flashes up in the lower left corner of the screen - "Air." Then the scene starts playing - a young dude walking down a road in the desert, stopping to examine a wall of rock with a pickax. A few seconds of this go by, then the guy moves on. He's got a huge knapsack on - he must be a backpacker or something. I'm not sure why he's wearing so many layers of jackets, though - unless it's wintertime?

"Holy shit," Wilson says. I turn to see him lean closer to the screen, rubbing his eyes as he goggles at it in disbelief. "Am I seeing double?"

It's only then that I figure out what's going on. The backpacker dude in this movie or whatever it is - he looks like me. Which means he must be played by Andrew Garfield.

I explain to everyone about my encounter with Tobey Maguire's version of me on that DVD. When I get to the part about Garfield, his character starts talking to a little boy standing on a rock all alone. Turning the volume up, I can hear his voice. It sounds identical to mine at first, but then I hear his British accent. It actually gets a little funny when he says the word "ranch" the way he normally would (as "rahnch"), but then tries to repeat the same word in an American accent so the boy can understand him.

"Okay," Gwen says, her voice measured. "Okay, I think the shit has been officially scared out of me now."

"You're not wrong," I say. Then I cover my mouth, hearing my own voice change. "Er...did I just...?"

"Have a British accent?" Skye finishes my sentence. "And a perfect one too. Am I right?"

Carter nods her approval. "It's bloody scary, but it's real, all right."

"So you're saying this Andrew Garfield is the actor who plays you in the real movies?" Gwen asks. "What about the rest of us?"

I look down at the floor. "I dunno," I say in a small voice - and I also notice I've gone back to my natural American accent. "Tobey didn't have time to tell me. But, uh, maybe if we looked on IMDB in this 'verse or something?"

"No can do," Skye says. "In this 'verse, all the Marvel movies are real, so they're not listed on IMDb. I think there's some details in SHIELD's files, but they're too classified for either May or myself. Not that I haven't tried hacking them, of course."

"Uh-huh," May laughs. "Of course."

"And no wonder none of us have thought of you being a dead ringer for Andrew Garfield," Sif adds. "Has anyone else ever seen him in any other movie?"

"I have," May says. She pauses in her circuit long enough to add, " _The Social Network._ It was part of a company seminar on bad business practices and the sources of our tools with which we can spy on people. I think it was more for the Hydra sleepers, though. To improve their playbooks."

"What did you think?" Rogers asks. "Of the movie, I mean."

May snorts derisively. "I slept through huge chunks of it. All I remember is a line from Garfield's character. Something about flip-flops, which I don't feel comfortable repeating in public."

"It wasn't a very good line anyway," Rogers says. "Blame the writer, of course."

We sit back in silence for a few more minutes. The movie goes on, coming up to a scene where Garfield's character (who introduces himself as a geology student named Tom) and the little boy (named Shane) are almost run over by a pair of redneck assbites in an old pickup, who yell "Faggot!" as they drive by. I definitely feel offended on Tom's behalf. 

Then, out of nowhere, Shane runs off, vanishing into the desert before Tom can catch up to him. Later, as dusk arrives, Tom comes up to an old shack, where he asks another redneck type (not an assbite, nor remotely dickheaded) about Shane. The redneck says that Shane's been dead since 1971, when his mom died in a drunk driving accident. Or something. I love Tom's response - the very British question, "Are you taking the piss out of me?"

Of course, the answer to that question is "no." But the real surprise of the movie comes right at the end - when the assbites come back, repeating their same super-fast driving routine and even yelling "Faggot!" at Tom. He then looks in their direction, his mind clearly on the same track as mine.

"Why is it exactly the same?" I ask nobody in particular.

Then the final shot happens - the camera zooms in on a cross driven into the dirt just off the road. It's got Tom's name and picture, followed by a date of birth and date of death. 1963 to 1988.

"Damn," Gwen breathes.

"That's a real bummer," Wilson says.

I can't even speak. I think it might just be the fact that this character is supposed to be like me, played by the same actor. But the reveal of Tom's death has brought something out of the back of my mind - something I didn't tell the others yet.

The fact that, according to Tobey, I'm doomed to suffer his fate. And I still have no idea how to save myself, or how much time I'll get-

"Excuse me?"

I jump up from my seat, startled. The owner of the voice that's just spoken is standing behind me. He's a tall guy with piercing gray eyes. Even though his hair is now super-short, I can still recognize him as Bucky Barnes. The mechanical arm gives it away - I can see a metal left hand poking out from the long sleeve of an oversized peacoat.

"Are you the guys Wade told me to get?" Bucky asks, a quizzical look on his face.

Rogers is the next to stand up. "Bucky...don't you recognize me?"

Bucky looks even more confused now. "Uh...who are you? And how do you know my name?"

"We, uh..." Rogers clears his throat. "Uh, well, we used to be friends. A long time ago, and..."

"I guess you're the right guys," Bucky says. "Wade said you'd know who I am, even with my new, uh, hairstyle." He shyly runs his hand over his military-short hair. 

"Where is Deadpool?" May asks, rounding on Bucky.

"Follow me," Bucky says. He leads us upstairs to the top floor of the lodge until we reach the room he's sharing with Deadpool. Our favorite guy with a red mask - besides yours truly, of course - is sitting on the edge of the bed. There's only the one bed in the room, so unless Bucky's got similar tastes to Deadpool, I can't imagine he's happily sharing it with him.

"About time," Deadpool says snidely as we all file into the room. "Finally, our little stunt was worth something after all."

"Did you really have to send your new lackey to collect us?" May asks.

"Kind of, yeah." Deadpool stands up and crosses his arms. "I can't really go out looking like this - I'm too conspicuous."

"Uh-huh," I say. "Why not just take the mask off?"

"Yeah," Gwen pipes up. "God knows you'd blend in easily, the way you look."

"Says you," Deadpool says. Even through his mask, I can see he's sneering at us. "I haven't been to see the good doctor in a while, and his glamour's been wearing off. Trust me, nobody wants to see what I look like for realsies."

"Enough," May says, holding up her hand. "Wade, what are we here for?"

Deadpool turns to me. "The writer talked to you?"

"He just said you'd be here," I say. "That's it. Nothing else."

"Of course." Deadpool crosses the room and enters a small closet. "He's such a dick. Aaaand as if on cue, he's singing another one of his awful whiny songs in my head again. Something about closing the goddamn door? Well, if I close the goddamn safe, will it get you to SHUT THE FUCK UP?" He pauses after closing said safe - I can hear a small clinking noise, then a beep as whatever electronic lock it's equipped with engages. "Thank you." 

In his hand, Deadpool now has a cell phone. "This was in that box I stole last night."

"You mean, that you and Bucky stole," May corrects him.

"Bucky's just the muscle," Deadpool says. "I'm the brains. And he has no problem letting me take the credit."

"As far as I'm aware, we're doing this for some guy named Steve who's been waiting for this phone for a year, ever since it was stolen from him," Bucky says.

"I'm Steve," Rogers says. "You say this phone is mine?"

"It has your name in the most recent text," Deadpool says. "Here, don't take my unreliable word for it. Check it out for yourself."

Rogers takes the phone from Deadpool and navigates his way to the text inbox. The most recent one, as Deadpool says, has a photo attached. The actual text reads, " _Steve, Billy thought you guys would love to see this, but you're the only Avenger whose number he doesn't have. Could you send it to me so I can give it to him?_ "

The attached picture is a strange one, to be sure. It depicts two people - a girl with dark red hair, not unlike MJ Watson, and a dude with short, spiky silver hair like some manga character. Only the tops of their heads and their eyes - similarly shaped and bright blue - are visible above a red blanket emblazoned with a huge, stylized spider. The same logo that's on the chest of my suit.

"Now who are these two?" Rogers asks, even more confuzzled than ever.

"That's another mystery for the list, I guess." I scratch my head. "Wait a minute..." I peer more closely at the name of the guy who sent the message to Steve to begin with.

"Uh-huh, now you're getting warmer," Deadpool says. "You recognize that name, don't you, Spidey?"

I do recognize it - because alone of all the Avengers, Bruce Banner is the only one we haven't met yet.


	23. Lights Down, You Up And Die

*****GWEN*****

"So where's this Bruce Banner, then?" Peter asks, stepping away from Steve as he continues to look through his phone. "Obviously not at SHIELD headquarters, otherwise we'd have met him by now."

"That's my next order of business," Deadpool says. "Believe it or not, all signs point to Strange wanting you guys to finally get back together. All the Avengers going around and, you know, Avenging things. With a capital A, of course."

"Oh, so Doctor Strange wants us to work together, huh?" I mutter to myself. "Bullshit."

"What do you mean?" Skye asks. "Of course Doctor Strange wants to help us out. He's a good guy, no matter what you think you know about him."

"Haha, I beg to differ." Deadpool sits on the bed and starts stripping one of his guns. "Your Stephen Strange, MD - the 'MD' standing for Magical Doctor in this case - screwed me over royally, and I need to make him pay. Why do you think I've been on this mission? Not out of the goodness of my heart."

"What heart?" May asks, knitting her eyebrows.

"Precisely my point, Cavalry." Deadpool begins reassembling his gun slowly, mechanically. "I've always got an ulterior motive - I'm looking out for Number One. And I really should have done my research on the good doctor before I came to him for help."

"Help with what?" Maggie asks. I'm sure she's speaking for all of us - I'm also surprisingly curious to know at least a little bit about what makes this kooky killer tick.

"The one thing even my super-duper-healy blood can't fix," Deadpool says. He slumps for just a second, sitting up straight again very quickly. But for that one second, I can see a flash of vulnerability in him. A flaw that makes him human. (Now here I'm hoping Thor and Sif don't have the ability to read minds, because I'm not really ready to see them get butthurt about the whole "human" thing again.)

"You mean, other than Coulson?" Steve asks.

Deadpool pauses before clicking the gun's clip back into place. "I mean this," he says, pulling up his glove and exposing the back of his hand.

I lean in to take a closer look, then immediately regret doing so. His hand is covered in what looks like a number of sores. Festering sores, oozing pus and...is that blood? I fight to keep my stomach from regurgitating my recent snack.

"You should see my head," Deadpool says, covering his hand again after Sam starts to gag at the sight. "No hair, no pretty eyes, no chiseled cheekbones to rival Brad Pitt's. Just more of these disgusting sores. It's why I wear red - that way, the blood doesn't stain my suit from the inside. Vanity's my biggest sin by far. "

"That, and murder," Skye scoffs.

"What happened to you?" Bucky asks. I guess he hasn't seen this before either. The only ones who have, I'm guessing, are Skye and May - they're the only ones who aren't looking either grossed out or morbidly curious. Or any combination thereof.

"I'll give you guys a little hint," Deadpool says. "Petey, Gwen, you two are the most scientifically inclined around here - no, Skye," he says, turning to look at her after she clears her throat loudly. "I don't count computer science, sweet cheeks. Anyway...you two lovebirds might be the first to guess my problem."

"Is there any point asking why you won't just tell us?" Peter asks.

"I'm a firm believer in showing, not telling," Deadpool says.

"I'm not sure that's what that's supposed to mean," Maggie says.

"Whatever." Deadpool shrugs, then starts cleaning his other gun. "Okay, here we go. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...sorry, wrong franchise. Although Marvel and _Star Wars_ are both owned by Disney now...okay, back to the point," he mutters after seeing May run her thumb over the butt of her own gun. "Well, a long time ago - that part is true. I swear to whatever god you believe in. Especially if he happens to be Odin. Anyway...there was a guy named Wolverine who, because he was a lucky winner of the mutant genetic lottery-"

"We prefer the term 'gifted,'" Skye interjects.

"Potato, potato," Deadpool says snidely, pronouncing both "potatoes" identically. "'Cause 'mutants' are Professor Xavier's people, and you SHIELD guys don't work with him 'cause Fox still owns the film rights to _X-Men._ Not that they're doing a bad job with that franchise, of course, but 'gifted' just sounds like a shitty euphemism to me."

At this point, there's a knock on the door. May automatically draws her gun, but Deadpool calmly stands up and lowers her hand. "Slow your roll, _Agente,_ " he says. "It's just room service. I ordered some Mexican food for me and Bucky. If I'd have known you guys were coming-"

"We ate on the way," Peter says.

"Oh well. Your loss." Deadpool extracts some money from the bedside table drawer - the one where they keep one of those Bibles - and uses it to tip the room service guy. "Mmm," he moans, handing one wrapped Mexican foodstuff to Bucky and taking the other for himself. "Chimichangas. They're the food of the gods."

Bucky gingerly unwraps his chimichanga, sniffing the air as the smells of meat, cheese, and tortilla fill the room. "It's, uh..." He takes a bite, savoring it for a moment. "It's really not that good, actually."

"I know that," Deadpool snickers. "Did you really think they'd know how to make proper Mexican food in this part of the country? But whoever invented the name 'chimichanga' is a total genius. It's one of the most fun words to say, don't you think? Besides the writer's favorite, which if you're interested, is 'envenomate.'"

"Back on subject, please," I say. "If your scattered brain can focus long enough, that is."

"Sure, sure," Deadpool says. "Here, since you're smart enough to know how scattered my brain really is, you can have my lunch. Not like I could eat it with my mask on anyway."

"No thank you," I say, holding my hand in front of the chimichanga. "I thought Peter said we ate already."

"He doesn't presume to speak for you, does he?" Deadpool keeps shoving the chimichanga in my face, reminding me oddly of a video Howard once showed me with a cartoon Predator trying to get a cartoon Ahnold to pick up a gun so he can justify shooting him for sport. Now that I remember seeing this video again, it was in the apartment in New York, not in San Castiel. I can hardly even remember the house in San Castiel anymore at this point. Did we even live in a house? Most likely we did - there aren't any apartments in San Cas the size of the one in New York, of that I'm sure.

"No chimichanga for me," I say, shoving it out of my face.

"Fine," Deadpool gripes. "Okay. So, Wolverine. You might have seen him in the _X-Men_ movies once in a while. No matter what universe you're in, at any time in the third millennium so far, there's one universal truth - there will always be a Wolverine, and he'll always be played by Hugh Jackman."

I look at Steve and Thor, who are both visibly confused, as is Bucky. Sif and Maggie don't seem to know what Deadpool's talking about either. Sam, however, rubs the stubble over his upper lip with his thumb, clearly lost in thought. Finally, he asks, "Isn't Wolverine the guy with the blades in his hands?"

Peter snaps his fingers. "Wolverine's also got super-healing. It makes him immortal. Is that...no way."

It finally dawns on me as well. "Are you saying you have Wolverine's blood?"

"And is that why you're so...disfigured?" Peter asks. "Some kind of genetic reaction to the other guy's blood?"

Deadpool cracks his knuckles. "Nope. 'Fraid not. I can see why you'd overthink it like that, though, after your DNA-related shenanigans with that Godzilla-type dude."

"The Lizard?" Peter asks.

"Mm-hmm."

"Then what is it?" I ask, getting sick of this long, dragged-out story.

"A little something I'd like to call 'Stage IV cancer,'" Deadpool says. "For whatever dumbass reason, Wolverine's blood makes it impossible for me to die - but it can't cure me. The cancer just keeps on coming back even as the healing mutation gets rid of it.

"So I went to Doctor Strange a few months back, thinking he'd be able to help. With his magic, that guy can do almost anything. Almost. Fixing damage to the human body, especially when magic and mutations are involved - apparently it's beyond his ability. I've since found out that he used to be a surgeon, until he was in a car accident and broke his hands so badly he can't use them anymore."

"That explains why he was watching _Body of Proof_ last night," Peter says, wringing his hands. "The main character on that show had to quit surgery for a similar reason. I think it might even have been a car accident."

"Yeah, except rather than switch to performing autopsies like Megan Hunt, Doctor Strange lived up to his name and explored the paranormal and/or supernatural," Deadpool says with a loud sniff. "Too bad none of his magical skills could help him fix up his hands all good as new. Which explains why he couldn't get rid of my disease. All I got was a stupid glamour that wore off after three months. And I'm now due for another shot in the arm with his strange magic...if only I knew where he was."

"We know where he is," Skye says. "But whether or not we tell you where he is...that depends on what exactly you plan to do with him when you find him."

"Nothing lethal," Deadpool says, crossing his heart. "I promise, I'll only just maim him a tiny bit. Just enough to give him another self-healing challenge."

"Mmm," Peter says, drumming his fingers on his arm. "Yeah, if that's how you're gonna play it, don't expect us to help you out anytime soon." 

"I got this phone for you guys," Deadpool complains. "How much more do I have to lick your boots before I finally get a favor back from you?"

"It's not so much a matter of boot-licking as a matter of trust," May says. "You're unstable as hell, Wade, in every possible way."

"That's no excuse," Deadpool says. "Everyone in here is unstable in some way. Whether you have some kind of hero complex or PTSD or what-"

"Excuse me?" I ask. "'Hero complex?'"

"You don't need a complex to be a hero," Peter says defensively. "You need to have a set of standards. Something I'm pretty sure you don't have."

"We all have our traumas," May says. "Didn't turn any of us into psychopaths."

"You're not including Bucky in that 'us,' are you?" Deadpool asks. "The guy who got brainwashed by Soviet Russians?"

Steve and Maggie look shocked, but they're nothing on Bucky, whose eyes are positively boggling. "What?" he whispers. "What...I...I don't..." 

"A word to the wise, Bucky-boy," Deadpool says, clapping his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "If you're getting a flashback, let it happen. Try to hold it back, and the trauma just gets worse."

"What flashback?" Bucky asks. "I'm not having any flashback. I'm just...how could I be a Soviet Russian spy? I wasn't even alive back then!"

"You sure of that?" Deadpool asks. "What year were you born in again?"

"Oh come on, that's easy," scoffs Bucky. "Nineteen ninety...seven?"

"Aha, see?" Deadpool says, pointing at Bucky. "Already the presence of these other guys is messing with the blocks on your memories. Besides, according to the writer, you're off by about eighty years."

_Hold on a sec, Wade. No need to drop it on his lap right now. I'm not here to bruise people's balls._

Peter and I are a little less affected by the sudden intrusion of the writer's disembodied voice than most of the others. Basically, the only ones truly surprised are those who haven't heard him before. Skye, May, Steve, Maggie, and Sam. And, of course, Bucky - although, at this point, it's pretty clear he's at least temporarily lost his ability to be surprised.

 _If they have balls, that is,_ the writer amends. _I'm talking literal balls, obviously. The ladies in this room are all ballsy BAMF girls._

"I think you should just stop talking now," I say. Unsure of where else to direct my words, I basically end up talking to the ceiling.

 _But then you won't look out the window when I tell you guys to do so,_ the writer says. _Which is right about...now._

As soon as the writer stops talking, the lights in the room flicker, then slowly fade to nothing. And yet, the natural light filtering through the translucent white curtains grows brighter.

Peter's the first to look out the window. "Oh my God," he says. "Is that...?"

I perch on my tiptoes so I can (almost) look over the top of his head. Outside, there's a column of light emerging from the trees on a nearby hillside.

"Anyone know what that is?" Maggie asks.

"Bifrost," breathes Sif.

"The gate to Asgard," Skye says by way of clarification.

"Does that mean there's another Asgardian in town?" Peter asks.

"I'd sure as hell love to find out," Deadpool says. "The more the merrier, am I right?"

He leads the way out the door. It takes a few minutes to get to the site of the Bifrost - which has since vanished, but it's left behind a huge ring of fallen, smoking, blackened trees in its wake. Mentally reminding myself to suggest that we call the fire department later, I follow closely behind Thor and Sif as we trek through the woods.

In the middle of the ten-foot circle of destruction is an object instantly familiar to anyone who knows anything about Norse mythology, let alone Marvel Comics and their movies.

A large hammer, which Thor picks up as if it's a butter knife. "How much does this weigh?" he asks nobody in particular, dropping the hammer onto a blackened tree and watching as it splits open with a loud, thunder-like crack.

This noise is then followed by the emergence of three Dark Elves from the other side of the woods. With fearsome war cries, they open fire with their arrows - only for Thor to toss his hammer in their direction. On impact, all three are quickly reduced to a bloody, sparking pulp...wait, _sparking?_

I follow Thor and get a closer look at the dead Elves. Their faces are no longer their usual faces - these have been replaced by _Terminator_ -style metal endoskeletons.

And the shapes of their faces are all too familiar as well. I saw a face just like that in my dream. All these cyborg Dark Elves look exactly like Ultron.

"Oh, crap." I hear Peter's voice behind me, but by the time I turn around, he's gone. I look around and eventually spot him again, running around the circumference of the circle and stretching multiple layers of webline between the trees.

He must have sensed the other, bigger wave of Dark Elves - cyborgs? - that's now getting tangled up in his trap.

"It's not gonna hold for long!" May yells. "Let's get out of here, now!"

The rest of us follow her orders, running back downhill towards the lodge. She, Skye, and Deadpool stay behind long enough to shoot the Elves up a bit and cover our escape. I turn around long enough to spot Deadpool even throwing one of his grenades in their direction - how did he carry those through the lodge unnoticed?

"Get down!" I yell at the others just before the grenade goes off. The circle of fallen trees is no longer a circle as a result - it probably looks more like a figure eight now.

The Dark Elves, however, are shockingly not as affected as they should be. And it turns out there's even more of them than we thought. An entire army of them is spilling out from up the hill, and heading straight for us.


	24. You Gotta Be Crazy, Gotta Have A Real Need

“We can’t just get outta here!” Skye yells as we run downhill. “All those people in the lodge are gonna be defenseless!”

“You suggesting we make a stand?” Peter asks. “Hope you guys brought weapons for the ones who don’t have superpowers!”

“Of course we did,” says May. She turns around to shoot a Dark Elf who’s getting a little too close to her. “They’re in my SUV.”

“Night-Night Guns?” I ask hopefully.

“Yeah, those,” May says. “And Cap’s shield.”

“When did we bring that?” I ask.

“You must have missed it,” Steve says, “but I brought it onto the jet. Thor, on your six!”

“What?” Thor doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of Steve’s military terminology at first. But then he turns around and gets the point - specifically, the point of a Dark Elf arrow less than two feet from his nose. Before the Elf can fire, however, Thor pounds his hammer on the forest floor, sending waves of lightning arcing around him in a wide radius.

This Dark Elf is fried - but it doesn’t spark like the cyborg ones. Clearly, at least some of them are still flesh and blood instead of Ultron clone-bots in disguise. I’m not sure which option is worse.

“Hey, careful with that!” Peter yells, clutching his wrists.  “Lightning and webshooters don’t mix!”

I laugh lightly as I remember the time Peter used a jumper cable and a cop car’s engine to magnetize his webshooters, thus protecting them from Electro. The last time he’d faced that guy, Electro had utterly destroyed his webshooters with his powers.

“Sorry,” Thor says with a cheeky grin. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

“Hey, only I get to be sassy around here,” Deadpool says. “Well, Peter can get in on the fun too if he wants.”

“Gee, thanks for the permission,” Peter says.

“What, and I don’t get any myself?” I complain.

“Whatever,” Deadpool says. He unsheathes one of the swords on his back and stabs another Dark Elf - a cyborg this time - without even looking. One down - ten million to go.

When we reach the parking lot in front of the lodge, Peter has Skye toss him the keys to one of the rented Durangos. He then jumps into the backseat for about ten seconds before emerging from the other side, his clothes cast off to show the Spider-Man suit instead. He’s also put on his mask, and is now crouching in an oddly bug-like position on the SUV’s roof.

 _There’s the Spidey I remember,_ I think.

“Gwen! Think fast!” Skye loads a Night-Night Gun with a fresh clip and throws it to me. She then does the same for Maggie and Sam, while May tries to give one to Sif.

However, with a somewhat contemptuous smirk, Sif says, “I don’t need a gun.” And she proves it by removing a small, dark object from the pocket of her hoodie - which is baggy enough to hide it surprisingly well. “Thor, you’re not the only Asgardian capable of harnessing the power of the storm!” she cries as she raises the object to an incoming Dark Elf, then plunges it into its face. A familiar clicking noise fills the air as the Elf sparks and collapses - except this one’s not a cyborg.

“All right!” says an awestruck Steve. “Let’s hear it for Asgardians with Tasers, people!”

“Thor, if I need you to recharge this thing, you’ll do it, right?” Sif asks.

“If I’m not busy,” Thor says.

Peter deploys a webline, which connects with the face of an Elf. As soon as it stops to try and claw the sticky stuff off its face, I raise the gun and take a shot. My brothers and I have all been taught how to use a gun by our dad, but I’ve not had shooting lessons in a couple of years, and I’m a tad bit more rusty than I’d care to admit. But I at least manage to nail the Elf in its shoulder, which isn’t that far off from my intended target - its forehead. Maggie, however, shoots the same elf in the neck, causing an almost comical outpouring of blood from its jugular.

I stick out my tongue as I’m hit by a wave of revulsion. “That’s really disgusting.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Maggie says. She’s looking a little green around the gills herself, as if she can’t believe she just inflicted that kind of injury on a living thing. But then, even the flesh-and-blood Dark Elves - do they count as living things? Aren’t they undead, like vampires or zombies? I could be wrong, but that’s the impression I’m getting. Which probably explains why it seems to take direct damage to the head to knock the organic ones down permanently. Again, like walkers.

“Sam!” May calls out, pointing at a tour bus that’s just arrived at the front of the lodge. “Help me get those people out of here!”

Sam doesn’t look too happy to be pulled away from the action, but there’s a reason why May’s calling him aside instead of me or Maggie. Of all us teens with Night-Night Guns, he’s the worst shot. Maggie and Bucky are the best by far, and I’m not too far behind, but Sam has so far fired three shots and hit the target only once.

Steve hefts his stars-and-stripes shield - I notice he’s holding it with a gloved hand. The significance of that glove makes itself known after he uses the shield for the first time, throwing it at a number of Dark Elves coming out of the trees on his ten o’clock. The shield fails to hit the Elves, but instead takes down the trees, collapsing it on top of the Elves and leaving them trapped. Then the shield flies back to Steve, attaching itself to the back of his hand like it’s magnetized.

Steve looks at Skye and says, “I guess you weren’t kidding about the muscle memory, huh?”

“Nope!” Skye takes another potshot at the nearest Elf, earning herself a glare from Deadpool as she shoots it down right before he can stab it in the eye.

“Maybe if you and Thor could do a tag-team attack, you could get that big group over there?” Peter says to Steve, pointing to his right.

Bucky looks in the same direction and says, “Oh yeah. Use the shield like a big disc-shaped baseball.”

Thor and Steve exchange glances, and I say, “If it works, Peter, you have my eternal respect. And my dad’s - ‘cause he’s always loved the idea of using baseball as a weapon.”

“Is it his favorite sport?” Peter asks.

“You have no idea.”

Steve throws the shield to Thor, who swings his hammer like a bat and delivers a huge home run as he smacks the shield out of the park. Again, more trees are broken, but this only leads to more Dark Elves getting crushed.

“That. Was. Awesome!” cries Skye.

“I agree, but I’m also trying not to think about the property damage we’re causing.” Which I add to by taking down another cyborg. For the first time, I shoot it right in the skull. It’s a very welcome sight to see, even as the remains of its grapefruit-sized ‘bot-brain are blasted backward, smashing into the trunk of the first tree in its flightpath.

I then take the chance to poke my head out from behind the SUV for a little while longer than I should. But it’s okay, because there aren’t any more Dark Elves coming. None that I can see, anyway. “Anything, Peter?” I ask. “Are your Spidey-senses tingling?”

“Haha, no,” Peter says. “But maybe if I got on the ground…?”

“If it helps.”

Peter deftly springs off the roof of the SUV and sticks his landing. Then he spins around slowly, looking around a full three hundred and sixty degrees. “Nope, I got nothing,” he says. “Maybe I’ll just go and - oh shit.”  

“What?” I’m really not liking the way he’s paused mid-step, his foot still hovering six inches off the ground.

“There’s more coming!” Peter cries, running off to reinforce the remaining trees with another layer of webline. “Hundreds! Maybe thousands!”

“What?” Steve asks, holding his shield at the ready.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks.

Peter’s about to respond, but because he turns to look at Bucky, he doesn’t see another Elf tear through the fresh webline barrier. Before I can even yell at him to get out of the way, the Elf drop-kicks him like a football. He flies through the air, almost crash-landing painfully on the windshield of one of the SUVs. Only his gecko-like fingers allow him to land safely on the roof instead.

“Pretty...pretty damn sure.” Peter’s practically burning a hole through Bucky as he turns to give him a pissed-off look. I imagine he’d probably add worse swear words, the way Deadpool’s doing as he furiously goes medieval on some Dark Elf asses (and making me think of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs song “Heads Will Roll” in the process), but he’s too dazed to do so. Not to mention out of breath, even as his chest heaves, trying to make up for having the wind of knocked out him. He’s probably developing some lovely bruises in sensitive places, too.

Now I can feel the Elves coming as well, instead of just seeing them. The trees, the ground, everything’s shaking - just like the time they all erupted out of that BART station. “Where the hell are these guys coming from?” I ask.

“Beats me,” Deadpool says. “But as long as I get to cut ‘em up, I don’t care!” To prove his point, he decapitates five Dark Elves in one swing of his sword, then unsheathes a second one and starts slashing even more wildly. He’s not cutting them at the neck as much, but by opening their torsos, he’s at least helping to distract them.

Then, out of nowhere, Deadpool starts flying out of the woods, like Peter had when the Elf kicked him. Except Deadpool didn’t get kicked. And neither did the Elves, some of which are equally airborne - and surrounded by a shimmering red glow.

I look around and see May and Sam returning to the parking lot. There’s someone behind them - I can’t really make out their features because they’re in shadow, but they’ve got their hands in the air, and their hands have the same red aura around them.

“Who’s this now?” Skye asks.

Peter cranes his neck. “Is that...is that Scarlet Witch?”

With a flash of silver light, a guy appears on the roof of the SUV right behind Peter. “Hah, no,” he says in a Russian-sounding accent. “Not unless my sister had a sex change without telling me.”

Peter’s eyes would be boggling if they weren’t hidden behind his mask. How do I know? Because the next thing I hear him say is, “Holy shit. Dude...you look just like Cade Clarke!”

“I get that a lot,” the guy says offhandedly, brushing back some of his short, curly, silver-tipped hair. Seeing this, and his blue eyes, I instantly recognize him as one of the two people from that picture on Steve’s phone. “But you know what? My sister and I, we think you’re the best Spider-Man, Peter Parker.”

“So...does that mean you’re Quicksilver?” Peter asks.

The guy disappears, then reappears at my side, again with a flash of silver. “You got it, boss,” he says, saluting Peter. “Pietro Maximoff, at your service. And my telekinetic friend, despite his powers’ surprising resemblance to those of my sister Wanda, is not, in fact, your Scarlet Witch.”

“Nope,” says the other guy - yeah, now I can see he’s a guy. He looks to be about Hiro’s age, and based on his eyes, I’m guessing he might be related to Pietro. His younger brother, maybe? Although the fact that he doesn’t have any foreign accent makes me wonder. “I’m Billy Kaplan,” he adds. “Code name: Wiccan.” And with that, he clenches his outstretched fist and pulls it back, causing more Dark Elves to shoot into the air uncontrollably.

“So, what are you guys waiting for?” Pietro asks. Before anyone can stop him - as if they could anyway - he takes a machine gun from the other SUV and fires a few shots into the air. “Get off your asses and let’s go murder some Elves!”

He darts off into the woods, then starts attacking all the Elves he can reach - those he can get to before Billy levitates them out of commission, anyway. It’s actually pretty cool, seeing him disappear and reappear several times just long enough to whack an Elf or two in the head with the butt of the machine gun. I guess he’s a better shot when he’s standing still - and with powers like his, where’s the fun in that?

Taking our cues from the newcomers, Peter and I are the next ones to go into the woods. We fight hordes of Elves side by side, with Peter tangling them up in his webs so I can have an easier time shooting them dead. We make a pretty good team - as do Pietro and Billy, and Steve and Thor, who are still using the same awesome - and awesomely efficient - tag-team tactics they’ve been using since the start of this fight.

“You remembering any other battles we’ve been in?” Peter asks.

“Like what?” I ask.

“The Lizard? Electro? Harry Osborn?”

I shudder at the last one. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause that was when - look out!”

Peter pushes me down, then blasts a cyborg Dark Elf whose arm is raised in the air, clearly poised to drive the knife it’s carrying into my gut. Its raised arm is now stuck to a tree - but in a movement fast enough to put Pietro to shame, its other arm touches the webline and delivers a nasty electric charge into it.

This charge travels down to the webshooter on Peter’s wrist, wrecking it like when he’d fought Electro. Obviously he hadn’t thought to magnetize it - but then, why would he? There was no way for either of us to know this kind of attack would be coming.

The shock sends Peter flying once again. He lands at the base of another tree, his webshooter half-melted, dripping strings of bio-cable.

I try to run over to help him, but before I can take more than three steps, I’m hit from behind by the Elf’s shock attack. Not being genetically enhanced, I react much more badly than Peter did - I hit the forest floor instantly, completely paralyzed - except for my lungs, which can barely breathe as I scream in stinging pain.

“Gwen!” Peter tries to help me, but he gets surrounded by Dark Elves, who manage to quickly subdue him, keeping him held in place so he can’t reach me.

I’d look around to see if anyone else can help, but based on the sounds I hear, everyone else is too busy trying to take care of their own pocket of Dark Elf activity.

The Elf who shocked me disentangles itself from the webline and jumps down to the ground, kneeling over me with a perfectly blank look on its cyborg face.

“ _Hello, Gwen,_ ” it says. To my surprise, it doesn’t talk in Ultron’s distinctive voice, despite being a copy of Ultron under its Norse-myth-creature skin. Instead, its voice is rough and wheezy, like an old man with lung cancer. “ _Do you remember me?_ ”

I don’t have enough breath to speak, but I’m at least able to turn my head about an eighth of an inch as I shake it no.

“ _Of course you wouldn’t,_ ” the Elf says - and I finally realize it’s being used to broadcast a message from someone else. Whom, I’m not sure yet. “ _We never actually met. But you have met someone very near and dear to my heart, although he would deny it and claim I have no heart._ ” A nasty laugh gurgles out of the Elf’s mouth. “ _A claim which may actually be correct, but I don’t care. I’ve been waiting for such a long time to try this experiment on you. Ever since you died at the hands of my son._ ”

With horror, I finally realize who’s using the Elf as a mouthpiece. But...I thought Norman Osborn was dead. Unless…?

The Elf shocks me again, and this time, it does so for a very long time. So long, in fact, that the last thing I hear before losing consciousness is Peter screaming my name helplessly.


	25. Il y a Des Ombres Dans "Je T'aime"

*****PETER***** [   
](http://www.deviantart.com/tag/mysterythriller)

It’s only after Gwen’s been shocked senseless that the phalanx of Dark Elves holding me down finally lets me go. This, of course, is so they can carry her off to...wherever they’re coming from. Svartalfheim, maybe?

Either way, I can’t just stand back and let myself lose Gwen. So I run after the Elves as they effortlessly carry her unconscious form uphill, deeper into the woods. Voices of some of my friends and allies call after me, but I ignore them, single-mindedly focusing on getting Gwen back.

The trouble is, these Elves are wicked fast. They’re easily outrunning me, even as I resort to Tarzan-style swinging from tree to tree in an effort to catch up. I must look pretty ridiculous, but I don’t care.

One of the Elves turns around and sees me coming, then breaks away from its comrades. As the others continue carrying Gwen away, this one gets into my path and decides to pick a fight with me. I think it was chosen for this task, though, because it’s already been damaged. Its arm is broken almost in two, the forearm connected only by a small handful of wires.

Its other arm, however, is still intact and working. And it’s still armed with that cattle-prod-like device with which it electrocuted me and Gwen both.

“What, that little thing?” I ask wryly. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Before the Elf can charge its electric attack, I cover the business end of the shock stick with web. Then I jump a couple of feet into the air and kick it in the chest, causing it to tumble backwards and fall on its ass. In the process, its busted arm falls off completely. As for its other arm, I remove the cattle prod from its hand. If I wasn’t a superhero with all the super strength that comes with it, I probably would’ve found it impossible to do so - even right now, the cyborg’s fingers don’t want to budge. But eventually, I remove the device and stick it into a tree, discharging it and melting off the web so I can use it again if need be.

“All right!” I yell at the Dark Elves as they move over the crest of the hill. “Who’s next?” Carefully holding the shock stick away from my body as I press the button to charge it up again, I advance through the woods. To my right, out of the corner of my eye, I see Pietro race past me, hopefully to run interference on the Elves. Pun very much intended.

By the time I reach them, they’re halfway down the other side of the hill, approaching a matte black semi truck parked on an otherwise-abandoned road at the bottom. Approaching, but not reaching it, because as Pietro runs circles around them - literally - they keep breaking their own circle formation in an effort to stop him. In the process, they leave Gwen on the ground, unattended except for one Elf.

I try to join Pietro in his fight for a while, but he stops long enough to say, “I got this, Peter! You go save your girlfriend, yes?”

“Uh...okay,” I say. “You keep giving them a run for their money!”

Pietro laughs out loud for a second. “Good one.” He then vanishes from sight as he starts running around again.

Before I come up to the lone Elf standing sentry over Gwen, I look under my arm and notice a couple of tiny holes in the side of my suit. I’d been wondering how I could have been shocked earlier, because I’m supposed to be insulated by the rubber. Unlike Electro, however, the cattle prod was a device sharp enough to penetrate my protective layer, allowing me to get shocked something fierce. To test my theory out, I gently touch the cattle prod to my knee and press the button. The charge doesn’t go into my body, as expected.

The noise, however, attracts the attention of the Elf. This one isn’t a cyborg - it’s not carrying a cattle prod, just a bow and arrow. I raise my prod, quipping, “Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?” Then I thrust the prod into the Elf’s solar plexus and discharge it until it’s on the ground, smoking slightly. “Metaphorically speaking, of course,” I add, raising the still-sparking stick close to my mouth and pretending to blow on it like a gunslinger in a western.

Damn, getting into the Spider-Man outfit has really awakened my snarky side. I knew Spider-Man was always prone to wisecracking in the heat of battle, but now that I’m experiencing it for real - it’s so cool, it’s almost impossible to put into words.

What’s not so cool, though, is the fact that Gwen is still not awake. Which I’d almost forgotten about, until now. I guess it’s true that sarcasm is also a highly effective defense mechanism.

Now that she’s all by herself, I run to her side, kneeling on the moss-covered ground and feeling for her pulse. I can’t find it at first, to my horror. But then, after I think to take off one of my gloves, I feel it in her wrist. Whew - she’s alive. Thank God.

Next, I call her name. “Gwen? Gwen? Are you okay? Wake up. Come on, wake up.”

“‘Please’ always helps.”

I know that voice. I didn’t think I’d hear it here and now, though.

I look up and see, rising from behind the semi, the horribly familiar, horribly messed-up face of the guy who used to be my best friend.

“Harry?”

“In the flesh, Petey,” Harry Osborn says, grinning nastily and blinking his green-tinted eyes. “Did you miss me?” He comes completely into view now, wearing his Green Goblin suit and balanced precariously on that floating glider thing he’d used the night Gwen died. I haven’t seen him once since that night - unless you count seeing his face on TV as the news people reported on him being shut away in an Oscorp-owned insane asylum.

“I should’ve killed you,” I whisper.

“You don’t have the balls,” Harry snarls. “I seem to remember you couldn’t even tell me without hiding behind that stupid mask that you wouldn’t give me your blood to save my life.”

“I told you it wouldn’t have worked,” I say, watching as he dismounts from his glider and steps around the trees. “Look at you. That’s what happened when you tried to use my dad’s spider venom, isn’t it?”

“How would you know?” Harry asks, sneering. “You weren’t there when that happened!”

“I saw the movie, though,” I say, drawing on my memory of seeing _The Amazing Spider-Man 2_ with Barton at the Maguire Mall theater. Even though I’m pretty sure that never happened - didn’t Skye say something about us being in San Castiel only six months? “That was nasty shit right there.”

“Oh,” Harry says, comprehension dawning on his face for a moment. Then he returns to his disdainful smirk. “Oh, I see. You saw _the movie._ ”

“Don’t start giving me some clichéd bullshit about it not being real or anything,” I say, rolling my eyes behind my mask. “Or that it’s all just a dream.”

“No bullshit - the movie is real,” Harry says. “But there’s more that went down, stuff that hasn’t shown up in any movie yet. Like the attacks of the Sinister Six - oh yeah, you already faced the first one at the end of your movie. Rhino, right?”

“I remember that,” I say. “But I don’t remember anything else.”

“You at least remember Gwen dying, I hope?” Harry says. “Surprising, isn’t it, how she’s alive and well now? Well, not so much ‘well,’ but-”

“You’re not gonna hurt her,” I say, charging the cattle prod again. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

“Yeah, see, I’m not gonna stoop that low,” Harry says, trying to sidestep me until I wave the stick at him. “I’m not gonna kill you. But I’m gonna take Gwen with me, and you can take that to the bank.”

“Again, over my cold, dead, lifeless-”

“I get it already,” Harry interrupts with a lazy hand-wave. “Can’t stand to see the one you love get hurt on your account. That’s the Peter Parker I remember.”

“It’s not my fault, though,” I say. “It’s nobody’s fault. How could it be anyone’s fault if we’re not doing anything wrong?” I block Harry’s way again, this time coming dangerously close to zapping him. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Don’t go playing the moral high-ground card on me,” Harry says. “You used to be quite the little vigilante after you first got your powers. Not to mention seeing Gwen after her dad told you to leave her alone.” His grin expands to an almost unnatural size. “Yeah, I saw the movie too. I’ve been sneaking around between universes. Shoot me.”

I look around and see Pietro still subduing the Elves. “You know, my speedster friend there might just hear you and-”

I really shouldn’t have turned around. By letting my guard down like that, I allowed Harry an opening to punch me in the gut. I hit the floor, gasping for breath.

Harry then proceeds to lift Gwen up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Hey, don’t worry,” he says as he steps back onto his glider. “I’m not gonna kill her - not this time.” He starts floating back to the semi, then calls back down to me, “Hell, by the time my dad and I are done with her, you’ll be thanking us for the new and improved version!”

Trying not to think about what the hell that’s supposed to mean, I stagger to my feet and chase after Harry. But I can’t reach him in time. He goes into the back of the truck, Gwen still in tow, and then the truck starts up and drives away. I fire off a bunch of weblines to try and stop it, but most of them miss their mark. And those that do - there just aren’t enough to keep the truck from moving down the road.

“Peter!” Skye calls after me as I run after the truck in vain. “Peter...let it go.”

“What?” I ask, not sure I heard her correctly. “He’s got Gwen! We can’t just-”

Skye stops me from talking as she lays a hand on my shoulder. I want to jump away from her, but I don’t. “Believe me,” she says apologetically, “I wanna go after that smarmy little shithead as much as you do. But this comes from the top - we have to let him take Gwen.”

“‘The top?’” I repeat. “You don’t mean May? She wouldn’t-”

“It’s not me,” says May as she joins Skye and me. “This is over my head.”

“Who’s-”

Once again, I’m interrupted - but this time, not by a person. This time, my words are slammed back down my throat as I see a floating red car descend to the level of the road.

Last time I saw that car, though, it had been destroyed. And its driver had been crushed to death in the wreckage of the Bus.

And yet, my eyes are telling me that a sunglasses-wearing Agent Coulson is driving his beloved Lola up to us.

He gets out of his car and walks up to me, his hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you, Peter Parker,” he says. “Well, you already met another version of me - but I understand he’s dead now?”

“Uh...yeah, he is,” I say. “And I thought Deadpool wasn’t able to bring you back to life.”

“I wasn’t,” Deadpool says. “I can’t bring the dead back. I had to bury you in the snow! Wait…” He pauses, scratching his head. “Don’t tell me - you’re a snow zombie!”

Coulson laughs lightly - and it sounds very strange coming from his mouth. “No, Wade,” he says. “There’s no such thing as zombies. Snow or otherwise. Now, Frost Giants, on the other hand…”

“We talking about Loki?” Skye asks. “Please, let’s not talk about Loki. He’s infinitely worse as a teenager.” She glances over to Thor as he joins us as well. “No offense, Odinsson.”

“I’ll pretend I totally understand what’s happening here,” Thor says, apparently deciding to ignore the latest slight on his brother for now. “But let me see if I can get this straight. Gwen’s missing, and your old boss is back from the dead?”

“From what I’ve heard, it’s not the first time,” Sif says, crossing her arms as she steps up behind Thor. “The Son of Coul is no stranger to the afterlife...and why the hell am I suddenly speaking Shakespeare?”

“You got a long way to go before you start speaking Shakespeare, honey,” Deadpool says, nudging Sif gently in her side. “And if you forget how to talk like a modern-day teenager, Thor can help you. He’s been around the Midgardians long enough to pick up on a few things.”

“I’ve only died once,” Coulson says. “That I know of. And only for about forty seconds.”

May and Skye exchange concerned glances. “Not this again,” May says with a weary sigh. “Coulson, or whoever you are, do we-”

“Whatever it is,” Coulson says, consulting his watch, “I’m afraid it’s gonna have to wait. Our base in DC’s been compromised, so everyone’s evacuating to the Avenger base in upstate New York. We should rejoin them right away - and it’s gonna be a long flight.” He then turns to me and says, “Peter, I promise, we’ll go after Gwen ASAP. We’ll get her back. But I think once you’re with the other Avengers, you’ll be able to understand why we let Osborn take her.”

“Yeah,” I say, unable to keep a hurt tone out of my voice. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, _boss._ ”

“You gonna come with us, Coulson?” Skye asks. “I don’t think we got room on our quinjet for Lola.”

“What?” Coulson raises his eyebrows, and if not for his sunglasses, I’m sure we’d see him blinking as well. “Uh, never mind. I’ll just be on my way, then. I’m sure I’ll be able to get to New York by the time you guys return, anyway.”

“How?” I ask. “Where’s your plane?”

Coulson runs his hand fondly over Lola’s fender. “This _is_ my plane,” he says, getting back into the driver’s seat. “We’ll see who’s got the better air travel, won’t we?” And with that, he fires up Lola’s engine and takes off into the sky, leaving a red streak behind him as he flies east at high speed.

“Come on, Parker,” Rogers says, beckoning me forward. “We gotta go.”

I look around and see the others making their way back through the woods. “Uh...yeah. Sure.” I follow Rogers and Carter, my mind unable to focus on anything but Gwen. And what Harry must be doing to her right now. I hate myself for going along with Coulson’s orders - which seem pretty out of character. But if I know one thing about Coulson, he seems to have an unorthodox streak. No doubt he’s got some plan thought up outside the box.

Whatever that plan is, he can’t tell us soon enough.


	26. It's All The Same, Only The Names Have Changed

*****PETER*****

The quinjet ride across the country feels like it takes a year, instead of two hours. I spend the whole time by myself, not really wanting to talk to anyone. And I’m not the only one - everyone else is keeping to themselves, clearly contemplating all the crazy shit that just went down. Pietro and his young friend look like they’re itching to break the ice and start socializing with the rest of us, but they hold themselves back, sensing the unease in our ranks.

When we land, I get up and look out the window to see Lola streak in and land next to the jet. So I guess Coulson wasn’t kidding about her being hella fast after all. If any SHIELD tech shouldn’t be allowed to ever fall into the hands of Hydra, it’s Lola.

As we disembark from the jet, the kid - Billy (I finally remember his name) - looks in the direction of the woods surrounding the building. “Looking for more Dark Elves?” I ask.

Billy shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just looking for the place where I used to live. Still do sometimes, in fact.”

“They don’t let someone as underage as you live full-time with the Avengers, huh?” I say with a small laugh - probably the first time I’ve laughed since we were in Deadpool and Bucky’s hotel room. Not that I’m keeping track.

“You’re just as underage as I am,” Billy counters, grinning up at me. “You’re still in high school, right?”

“I am,” I say. “Or was, in the other ‘verse. They told me I’m actually nineteen or something.”

Billy pouts upon hearing this. “Damn. That makes you officially too old for me.”

“I don’t think I’m too old to be your friend,” I say. “What about Pietro?”

“I...uh…” Billy scratches his head, ruffling his thick hair. “That’s not what I...you know what, forget it. It’s not important.”

“Okay then.” I leave Billy to his staring into space and run to catch up with the others. Coulson isn’t far behind me, but he manages to get ahead of everyone else pretty quickly.

I look around and see a second quinjet just coming in to land next to the first one. Seconds later, the rest of the team - those that didn’t come to Washington - starts to emerge. Hiro and Tadashi and their people are first, along with Baymax. Then it’s Barton, Stark, Natasha, Ginny, and Fitz-Simmons. The British dude, Hunter, is next, with a blonde woman bringing up the rear. I haven’t seen this woman before - she must be another SHIELD agent.

“Hey, guys,” Hiro says, sauntering up to us and doing fist-bumps all around.

Baymax watches him closely for a moment, then offers his own fist to bump. I’m the first one to take it - Baymax contact is a proven mood-lifter, and this time is no exception. The reason? As soon as I bump my fist with his inflatable one, he pulls it back and makes a weird, but funny, approximation of that explosion noise - “Bata-lata-la.”

Fred catches sight of this and guffaws uproariously, slapping his thighs. “Man, that never gets old. Am I right, or am I right?”

“If we say you’re right, will it get you to shut up?” Go-Go says with a short, through-her-nose laugh. The Hamadas and their friends all burst out laughing along with Fred.

Barton, meanwhile, counts the crowd silently. “Um, am I missing something?” he asks when he’s done. “Where’s Gwen?”

And there goes any warm and fuzzy feelings brought on by Baymax being Baymax. I look down at my feet - I’m still wearing the Spider-Man uniform shoes, despite having put my street clothes back on over the uniform - and say in a small voice, “They got her.”

“Who got her?” Stark asks. “Don’t tell me - is she dead? Again?”

Something about the way he asks that question makes me feel a strong urge to punch his lights out. Holding myself in check, I say, “I hope not. But knowing the Osborns…”

“Someone mention the Osborns?” asks Simmons. “As in the Oscorp Osborns?”

Fitz shudders. “Or, as I like to call them, the Dynasty of Destruction.” He rattles off a list of all the terrible things Oscorp has done, ticking them off on his fingers. Some of them, I remember from the movies - making the spiders that gave me my powers, the Green Goblin, the Rhino. But also included in that list are entities and/or people I’ve not really heard of before - the Vulture, Black Cat, Kraven, and Doc Ock.

“Didn’t I tell you about the time we went up against Doc Ock?” Deadpool asks, cutting Fitz off mid-rant. “Or was I...yeah, I was talking to Gwen, not you.”

“I don’t remember ever fighting alongside you,” I say.

“I bet you will eventually,” Deadpool says. “It wasn’t in any movie, though, so that’s not gonna help unlock the memory for you.”

“Guys?” Coulson’s on the other side of the room, waving at us. “You wanna rescue Gwen Stacy, right? You might wanna follow me. Director Fury wants to debrief you.”

Barton and I look up, surprised. “Did you say ‘Director Fury?’” Barton asks. “You mean...you mean Nick Fury?”

“Yeah, the scary black guy with the eye patch,” Natasha chimes in.

“Thing is, though…” Skye pauses, weighing her words. “Fury’s not the director anymore. Coulson is.”

May nods thoughtfully. “So why would he still say Fury’s the director?”

“Just out of respect?” I ask. “Like how you’d still say ‘Mr. President’ even if the guy’s out of office?”

Simmons shakes her head. “Coulson can be casually disrespectful if he wants to, ‘cause he can pretty much get away with it.”

“And he usually does,” Fitz says.

“So Coulson’s not said ‘Director Fury’ in a long time,” Hunter says.

“That we know of,” laughs the blonde woman, who’s coming around from behind Hunter. “Have we met?” she asks, looking at me in particular, along with everyone else who went to Washington. “I’m Bobbi Morse.”

“Don’t let her try and charm her way into your pants, boys,” Hunter warns us with a barely-stifled snicker as Bobbi comes around and shakes hands with us - me first, then she moves on to the Asgardians. “Believe me, it’s not worth it.”

“Not that any of you need to worry about me charming you,” Bobbi says, sparing a second to shoot Hunter a dirty look. “I’m out of all you guys’ leagues.” She snickers to herself, then adds, “You know, I’m still not used to it. The Avengers as teenagers? And Bucky, too. Man, just when you think you’ve seen it all, you know?”

We leave the hangar and enter the building proper. It’s really nice and neat and clean. Very modern-styled, with glass and metal everywhere. I’m almost afraid that we’re tracking Pacific Northwest moss across the gleaming tile floor or something. Even though we’re not. So Fury better not send us any cleaning bills.

Before long, we’re all gathered in a huge conference room with a view of the forest. In the distance, I can sort of see another tall building poking above the tree tops. It looks like a mansion or something, but I can’t really pick out too many details. I’m guessing that’s the place where Billy lives. Was that the direction he was looking in? I can’t really tell, because being in a new place, my internal compass needs time to recalibrate.

“Just take a seat anywhere,” Coulson says, gesturing to a long table with black plastic swivel chairs arranged on either side of it. “Director Fury will be here shortly.”

I sit between Barton and Rogers. A minute later, Fury himself strides into the room. I almost want to stand, like the judge has just come in. He’s even more intimidating in person than I could have imagined.

“Really?” he says dismissively, looking at Coulson. “You had to come in cosplaying as a dead guy? I thought you were better than that, Laufeyson.”

Coulson smiles, and then his face changes, followed by his clothes. No longer is he the mild-mannered, plain-suited man we all know and love. Instead, he’s everyone’s favorite long-haired Asgardian menace, now in adult form.

“Please,” Loki says airily, holding his hand up as Thor and Sif rise in surprise. “Don’t look so shocked. It’ll take a lot more than a silly magical doctor’s spells to wipe my memory and turn me into an adolescent pissant.” He changes appearance again, this time de-aging himself in a matter of seconds. “The latter, I can easily do to myself.”

“Are you sure you can’t just share some of those mumbo-jumbo disguisey powers with me?” Deadpool asks hopefully. “I mean, anything to be able to go around in public without this mask. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable this is?” He looks down the table at me. “Well, Peter might.”

“For the umpteenth time, no.” Loki takes the last available chair and sits in it, folding his hands on the tabletop. “Do continue, Director,” he adds, pronouncing it the British way - “Die-rector.”

“Didn’t even start,” Fury says, his inflection changing just enough to indicate that he’s fuming at Loki’s antics under his typically stoic exterior. He closes his eye for a moment, then starts the briefing in earnest.

“It’s very nice to see you all here,” he says. “But I understand one of us is missing. Gwen Stacy, right?”

I raise my hand. “Yeah, speaking of which, when do we plan to go get her back?”

Fury cracks the briefest of grins. “I see losing your memory hasn’t compromised your personality, Parker,” he says. “Even before, you were always itching to get back into action. After all, a hero’s work is never done...but try telling that to Stark and Barton, when they tried to retire from the Avengers.”

Stark scoffs. “Maybe it’s a good thing we’ve forgotten so much. Why would anyone wanna retire from the Avengers?”

“‘Cause you, Stark, were just being Stark,” Fury says. “As for Barton, he had a wife and kids to worry about.”

Barton looks at Natasha in surprise. “Don’t tell me we-” he begins, gesturing at her as they both start to blush.

“No, no, no,” Fury says. “The only reason you two got together as teenagers is because _someone_ thought it would be cool to screw with reality like that.”

“I regret nothing.” In walks Doctor Strange, who uses electricity to open and close the door. “Ever since I was tasked with eliminating the first Peter Parker, I’ve been trying to do right by all of you kids. Although I did reserve the right to make sure you found love in what I thought were the right places.” He stands behind May - there are no more seats open - then looks at me. “I understand you met your predecessor?”

“Yeah, I did,” I say, crossing my arms. “And as soon as I save Gwen, I’m gonna figure out a way to make sure I don’t end up like him.”

“You’ll have more chances to figure that plan out,” Fury says. “Did you manage to buy the time he needs?”

Strange nods once. “They didn’t have time to cast a new Spider-Man, so they couldn’t include him in any _Age of Ultron_ post-credits scene. Not that there is one, anyway. Now, we have one more year to ensure this Spider-Man lives. Otherwise, when _Civil War_ comes out...I’ll have no choice.”

Fury purses his lips. “One year. Isn’t there some law that says the good guys always get a nice round unit of time? One hour, one day, one year.” He looks around, then sighs through his nose. “Anyway...for those of you who are wondering what the hell is going on and why we’re focusing so much on Peter, wonder no longer.

“After Gwen Stacy died, you, Peter, hung up the unitard for five months - until Oscorp let loose the first of their Sinister Six. Well, second, if you count the Green Goblin as their first. The second was the Rhino - a Russian gangster in a giant mecha suit. Essentially, dumb muscle. The rest of the team was far smarter - not only the Goblin, but also Doc Ock, Black Cat, Kraven, and Vulture. Deadpool helped you take on some of them, and then we found you and recruited you. It was...surprisingly easy.

“And then Doctor Strange came to me and Coulson with two pieces of bad news. First, he’d learned that Norman Osborn, who was said to have died, had faked his death and had himself preserved like the slimy dirtbag he was. And that he’d perfected the formula for the spider venom that gave you your powers.” Fury pauses, then draws a small remote from his pocket and clicks it. The screens ringing the walls come to life, displaying pictures of me and Harry, both in uniform. “The reason why Harry became the Goblin when he took the spider venom was because-”

“Because of my dad,” I say, feeling myself start to tear up. Was it really the same day as the night of Gwen’s death, the day I’d found my way into that hidden lab in the subway? “He engineered the venom so it would only work on himself and those of his bloodline. Meaning me, ‘cause I’m the last living blood relative of his.”

“And for that reason, Harry reacted negatively, to say the least,” Fury says. “Simmons, take over. This kind of biology - it’s all Greek to me.”

“Of course, sir,” Simmons says, standing next to Fury and taking the remote. “With his scientists working virtually around the clock, Norman was able to re-engineer the venom and successfully use it on himself. As for Harry - the new formula helped, but the damage was already done. He’s lost all physical and mental stability, right down to the level of his DNA. In fact...well, we’ve not been able to confirm it one way or another, but Fitz and I have hypothesized that Harry may no longer be able to reproduce, he’s so badly broken.”

“But that’s not important,” says Fitz, stepping up beside Simmons. “What’s important is that, according to Strange’s source - Black Cat, who, surprisingly enough, was a double agent - anyway, she said Osborn had made it so that the venom would work on anyone, not just people with a specific DNA sequence. And he had a few other test subjects in mind for human trials.” Simmons presses the button on the remote, and two more familiar faces appear on the screens. “One of them was Miles Morales,” Fitz continues. “Your neighbor, Peter. Well, in San Castiel, at least. In New York, Miles was just the nephew of an Oscorp security guard - that’s the only connection. And the other...well, Oscorp has her now, unfortunately.”

“And we’re waiting for our _new_ woman on the inside to let us know it’s time to retrieve her,” Fury says. “In the meantime, the second bit of bad news from Doctor Strange. I’m sure by now you’ve noticed how Deadpool’s been talking a bunch of crap about ‘the writer,’ ‘the movies,’ et cetera.”

“Believe me, they’ve all noticed,” Deadpool says. “The writer’s even been talking to some of them.”

“Right,” Fury says with a dismissive hand-wave. “I dunno about the writer, but I can tell you this much - the movies are real. Movies and TV shows both - but in the movies, most of you guys wouldn’t be sharing screentime, ‘cause some of you aren’t owned by Marvel Studios like the Avengers and _Agents of SHIELD._ If this were a movie, Deadpool and the Big Hero 6 wouldn’t be here.”

“Who’s Big Hero 6?” asks Barton.

“Our friends from San Fransokyo,” Fury says, gesturing to Baymax and the Hamadas. “The ones who are really from San Fransokyo, that is. They’re not from the same universe as us - but that’s why Doctor Strange chose to send you guys to their world.”

“And that’s also why he and I made you teenagers,” Loki says, his chair revolving slightly. “That way, if and when Oscorp or Marvel Studios or any other villains tried to come in and screw up this perfect team, they’d have a harder time tracking you all down.”

“‘Perfect team,’ huh?” Stark laughs, elbowing Ginny lightly. “Look at that - even the bad guy thinks so.”

Loki folds his hands on the tabletop. “You’re right - I am a bad guy.” I almost start laughing - the way his smooth, cultured voice sounds when he’s saying “bad guy” is, for some reason, way too funny to me. “But I can’t resist a good trick, especially when it means I can help wreak havoc on those mewling quims at Marvel Studios.”

“Isn’t that what you called me in _The Avengers?_ ” Natasha asks. “A ‘mewling quim?’”

“If you’re asking for an apology for that moment of rudeness, it’s not going to happen,” Loki says, his lips curling upwards.

“I wasn’t asking,” Natasha says, a hint of snideness in her voice. “I may be a mewling quim, but I’m not stupid.”

The door opens, and a bespectacled man in a white lab coat walks in. “Tell me we got our signal, Banner,” Fury says.

The man - whom I now recognize as Bruce Banner, looking exactly like I’d seen him in the alternate version of _The Avengers_ \- shows Fury something on a tablet. “Wanda’s activated her beacon,” he says. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” I ask. “Pie?”

“Time to save Gwen Stacy,” Fury says. “And, of course, Wanda Maximoff. Peter, Pietro, I take it that’s your cue to go?”

“I’m coming too,” Barton says.

“And me,” Natasha chimes in.

Deadpool perks up. “Do I have to ask permission to come along? ‘Cause even if I do, I’m not gonna. I’m just gonna join you guys anyway.”

Fury rolls his eye. “Can’t stop you, clearly. All right. Banner, take our young volunteers - and our mouthy merc.”

I get out of my seat, as do Pietro, Barton, Natasha, and Deadpool. We then follow Banner out the door and back to the hangar, where one of the quinjets is already fired up and ready to go.

“Who’s our pilot?” I ask, looking in the direction of the cockpit.

“I am,” says an English-accented voice. I think I’ve heard it before, but I can’t really place it. The owner of the voice turns around in the pilot’s chair, revealing a very odd-looking face. It looks like some kind of halfway point between human and robot, even more so than the picture of Ultron Skye showed us. For whatever reason, though, its skin is magenta, and it’s got a yellow jewel in its forehead, sort of like an Indian bindi.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I’m Vision,” he says. “Buckle up, children - and Doctor,” he adds, nodding to Banner. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

“You’re counting me as one of the ‘children?’” Deadpool asks. I can almost see the shape of his pouting lips under his mask.

“You certainly have the maturity of one,” Vision remarks. He closes the hatch and guides the jet into the air, then takes off.

I turn around and look out the window. The sun is behind me, and since it’s late afternoon, that means we’re heading south. Remembering that this Avengers facility is supposed to be in upstate New York, that suggests, to me, that we’re heading down to New York City.

The home of Oscorp. The belly of the beast.

My home. Gwen’s home.

 _We’re coming for you, Gwen,_ I think. _Hold on._


	27. Credits

RICKY PINE presents

DEADPOOL SYNDROME: A MARVEL FANFIC

 

 

CAST:

 

ANDREW GARFIELD - Peter Parker/Spider-Man

EMMA STONE - Gwen Stacy

RYAN REYNOLDS - Wade Wilson/Deadpool

NATHAN KRESS - Clint Barton/Hawkeye

THEO JAMES - Thor Odinsson

CHLOE BENNET - Skye

RYAN POTTER - Hiro Hamada

DANIEL HENNEY - Tadashi Hamada

SCOTT ADSIT - Baymax

DYLAN O'BRIEN - Tony Stark/Iron Man

JAMES SPADER - Ultron

CLARK GREGG - Phil Coulson

MAYA RUDOLPH - Aunt Cass

GENESIS RODRIGUEZ - Honey Lemon

JAMIE CHUNG - Go-Go Tomago

DAMON WAYANS - Wasabi No-Ginger

T.J. MILLER - Fred

ELIZABETH HENSTRIDGE - Jemma Simmons

IAIN de CAESTECKER - Leo Fitz

PAUL BETTANY - JARVIS, Vision

NICK BLOOD - Lance Hunter

DAVID HENRIE - Steve Rogers/Captain America

KIT HARINGTON - Loki Odinsson

MING-NA WEN - Melinda May

SHAILENE WOODLEY - MJ Watson

VICTORIA JUSTICE - Jane Foster

CRYSTAL REED - Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

HOLLAND RODEN - Ginny Potts

MARIE AVGEROPOULOS - Sif Surtsdóttir

TOBEY MAGUIRE - Himself

EMMA WATSON - Maggie Carter

AML AMEEN - Sam Wilson

ROBBIE AMELL - Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

AARON JOHNSON - Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver

CHANDLER RIGGS - Billy Kaplan/Wiccan

CHRIS COOPER - Norman Osborn

DANE DeHAAN - Harry Osborn/Green Goblin

SAMUEL L. JACKSON - Nick Fury

TOM HIDDLESTON - Loki Laufeyson

MARK RUFFALO - Bruce Banner/Hulk

ELIZABETH OLSEN - Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch

 

and STAN LEE - Antique Store Owner

 

 

FEATURED MUSIC:

 

"MY SONGS KNOW WHAT YOU DID IN THE DARK (LIGHT 'EM UP)"

Written by Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, Joe Trohman, Andy Hurley, Butch Walker, and John Hill

Performed by FALL OUT BOY

 

"BEAT IT"

Written and Performed by MICHAEL JACKSON

 

"NO PHONE"

Written by John McCrea and Xan McCurdy

Performed by CAKE

 

"BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE"

Written by David Byrne, Chris Frantz, Jerry Harrison, and Tina Weymouth

Performed by TALKING HEADS

 

"TROUBLE"

Written by Guy Berryman, Jonny Buckland, Will Champion, and Chris Martin

Performed by COLDPLAY

 

"HEARTBEAT CITY"

Written by Ric Ocasek

Performed by THE CARS

 

"UPTOWN FUNK"

Written by Jeff Bhasker, Philip Lawrence, Bruno Mars, Mark Ronson, Nicholas Williams, Devon Gallaspy, Lonnie Simmons, Ronnie Wilson, Charles Wilson, Robert Wilson, and Rudolph Taylor

Performed by MARK RONSON feat. BRUNO MARS

 

"VANISHING"

Written by Bryan Adams and Robert John "Mutt" Lange

Performed by BRYAN ADAMS

 

"LOVE RUNS OUT"

Written by Ryan Tedder, Brent Kutzle, Drew Brown, Zach Filkins, and Eddie Fisher

Performed by ONEREPUBLIC

 

"BLITZKRIEG BOP"

Written by Tommy Ramone and Dee Dee Ramone

Performed by THE RAMONES

 

"KNEE SOCKS"

Written by Alex Turner

Performed by ARCTIC MONKEYS

 

"SEPARATE WAYS (WORLDS APART)"

Written by Jonathan Cain and Steve Perry

Performed by JOURNEY

 

"THE BALLAD OF MONA LISA"

Written by Brendon Urie, Spencer Smith, Butch Walker, and John Feldmann

Performed by PANIC! AT THE DISCO

 

"STRANGELOVE"

Written by Martin Gore

Performed by DEPECHE MODE

 

"PARK AVENUE"

Written by Scott McCloud, Eli Janney, Johnny Temple, and Alexis Fleisig

Performed by GIRLS AGAINST BOYS

 

"DENTAKU"

Written by Ralf Hütter, Emil Schult, and Karl Bartos

Performed by KRAFTWERK

 

"I BET MY LIFE"

Written by Ben McKee, Daniel Platzman, Dan Reynolds, and Wayne Sermon

Performed by IMAGINE DRAGONS

 

"THE REFLEX"

Written and Performed by DURAN DURAN

 

"BOOM BOOM BÂ"

Written and Performed by MÉTISSE

 

"DREAMLINE"

Written by Neil Peart

Performed by RUSH

 

"MY SONG 5"

Written by Haim and Ariel Rechtshaid

Performed by HAIM

 

"NUMB"

Written by The Edge

Performed by U2

 

"ANTS MARCHING"

Written by David J. Matthews

Performed by DAVE MATTHEWS BAND

 

"DOGS"

Written by Roger Waters and David Gilmour

Performed by PINK FLOYD

 

"SACHE QUE JE"

Written and Performed by JEAN-JACQUES GOLDMAN

 

"WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE"

Written by Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora

Performed by BON JOVI

 

 

 

The heroes and villains of DEADPOOL SYNDROME will return in SPIDER SOULMATES.


	28. The Osborn Curse

*****GWEN*****

I pace around the cell in which I woke up a little while ago. There’s no clocks, of course, so I have no way of knowing how much time I’ve spent in here.

“Six hours,” says the cell’s other occupant, a young woman with dark red hair and a Russian-sounding accent. “Three of which you spent asleep.”

“Good to know,” I say. “Who are you?”

The woman holds out her hand. “I’m Wanda Maximoff.” As I shake her hand, she adds, “And you’re Gwen Stacy.”

“How do you know my-”

“I can look into people’s minds,” Wanda says. “Read their thoughts, sense their feelings, learn their worst fears. Yours is...well, let’s not go there.”  She looks up at the cell’s only source of natural light - a tiny window about ten feet above our heads. “Do you know where you are?”

I frown at the walls. “Oscorp.”

“Not for long, though,” says Wanda. She raises her hand and shoots a small burst of red light through the window. “There. Now they’ll know to come find us.”

“‘They’ being…?”

“The other Avengers, and the agents of SHIELD,” Wanda says. “Including Peter Parker, I trust?”

“I sure hope so.” I redouble my frown, wishing Peter were here already. “What exactly did you just do?”

“A little psychic energy burst,” Wanda says. “If they’re scanning - and they usually are - SHIELD will pick it up and come collect us. Then my brother and I can meet Peter Parker, yes?”

I look into Wanda’s eyes and realize she’s the other one in that Spider-Man blanket picture. “You and Pietro are big fans, huh?”

“You have no idea. We - oh shit.” Wanda stiffens, then presses her ear to the solid metal door. “They’re coming.”

Seconds later, they do come - a pair of Oscorp security guards in full body armor. Their heads are encased in metal helmets, making Wanda curse under her breath again. I guess her mind-powers don’t work on helmeted heads?

The guards take me, ignoring Wanda completely. The whole time they’re dragging me into a strange and freaky-looking lab, I’m yelling nasty words at them, the nicest of which is “Get your goddamn hands off me!”

Inside the lab, I’m strapped to a table, all four limbs. Then a man rolls in on a silent, motorized wheelchair. He holds up a vial and says, “I had one of these stolen from me not so long ago. Lesson learned - never trust a security guard.”

I roll my eyes and channel Peter’s snarky spirit. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead, Osborn?”

“Not anymore.” Osborn rises from his wheelchair and steps stiffly over to my side. “Thanks to this.” He shows me the vial. Inside is a single spider scuttling around frantically. “I think it’s a hell of about time I made sure this works on someone else. Don’t you?”

“NO!” I can’t stop myself - I’m absolutely terrified, knowing what’s coming next.

Even as I struggle to break free - a struggle I know I can’t win - Norman grabs my arm and pins it down again. With his free hand, he uncaps the vial and presses it to my bare skin.

With nowhere else to go, the spider slides down the vial’s glass interior and lands on my arm.

I grit my teeth just in time for the bite.


End file.
